The Resurrection of Seiryu
by Xenogias
Summary: Akira is an average guy, doing his best to be one of the "good guys" in the world, but failing miserably at it. When he finds a mysterious book in the library, he starts to understand why. The battle between good and evil starts from within, but what do you do when you're on the wrong side? What does a human do in between a war between ancient gods?
1. Chapter 1: American Beauty

Chapter One: American Beauty

He was cold.

The alarm started chirping, and while he'd set it to a nice harpsichord tone, he hated it all the same, and almost more for how pleasant it tried to sound. Grunting, he pushed himself up on his elbows and squinted at the screen on the smartphone. Of course it was six in the morning, which meant he still had three more swipes at the snooze button until it was 6:15 and he really had to get out of bed.

He pushed his head into the pillow and huffed. He'd slept terrible again. For about the last week or so, he'd been having weird dreams, but could never recall them upon awakening, which he figured was a good thing. But it left him feeling dead tired when he woke up in the morning, almost as though sleeping was as rough as pushing the good old nine-to-five.

The alarm again. Another swipe. Ten more minutes. These were the quickest fifteen minutes of his day, every day.

He thought about what he would do today. Work, and then nothing after for once. Maybe he'd break out the X-Box and play Warframe for a few hours on Live. Maybe Matt would be online and they could just blitz a few levels. He'd ask at work.

Again the alarm. Six-ten. Five more minutes until he had no choice but to rise.

His cat, Steve, was whining on the other side of the bedroom door, and he thought about just getting up and opening it to keep him quiet, but decided against it because of the frigid air beyond the dirty down covers.

This time he couldn't avoid the alarm. No swipes left.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, and shoved the blankets off. His apartment was always cold, and now that fall was on its way, even cooler. He rubbed his face in his hands and reached for the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand. It was the same thing every morning. Three alarms, a cigarette, and then a shower.

He thought he lived his life like a movie, and thought of his favorite, American Beauty, every morning as he woke up and started his routine. He lit his cigarette and thought to himself, _'_ _My name is Lester Burnham. This is my neighborhood; this is my street; this is my life. I am 42 years old; in less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet, and in a way, I am dead already.'_

His name wasn't Lester Burnham, but Akira Kawasaki. After he would introduce himself, he always followed that with, "But I'm not Japanese. I'm adopted."

It was true, he _was_ adopted, and his adoptive parents _were_ Japanese. He was born in America, raised in America-and hated his given name. Akira usually suffered strange looks upon introducing himself, because whoever his birth parents were, they definitely weren't Asian.

Akira was tall, six feet and then some. He didn't have black hair, but instead it was long and brown and fell past his shoulders. Every month he dyed his hair to cover up the fact that it was naturally white, and this was a ritual started by his parents. It'd been going on for as long as he could remember. No one knew where the white hair came from. He was just born old, his parents told him.

He also wasn't forty-two years old. He was twenty-five going on eighty, at least it seemed to him. Life had seemed so full of promise once he graduated college. He'd graduated third in his class, top honors, head of the honor society, and editor for an online video game magazine. The joke was on him though—when he got into the real world, the printed paper business was dying. Despite his success and impressive background, every job he was interested in required experience he didn't have. He wasn't willing to relocate to a big city, or even to nearby Chicago, just for the sake of being an editor. So, he ended up signing with a temp agency that had set him up doing Inside Sales for a medical device company, and he'd been at the same place ever since. It had been a few years now, and he'd lost that young ambition he once had.

Akira was good at his job and had racked up some impressive feats in his time there. He now managed the company's key accounts and handled over eight million dollars a year in sales. He had a good group of work friends, and while his new boss was nice enough, he'd started off on a bad foot.

The guy was Japanese, and of course, the first thing out of Akira's mouth to him was, "Name's Akira Kawasaki, but I'm not Japanese." His boss didn't think it was very funny, and Akira figured that made sense, since Taka was proud to be Japanese and Akira clearly was proud of _not_ being Japanese.

Life was one fuck up after another. He took a drag off his cigarette and picked up his phone. There were a bunch of texts. He scrolled through them and found they were all just Keith from work being Keith drunk. Apparently he wanted to play Call of Duty at one in the morning, which Akira thought was pretty funny considering Keith had to be up and working in dispatch at five. _Sucks to be dispatch._

There was a can of Coke he'd left on the nightstand last night and he took a sip from it. It was completely flat, but that didn't matter. It was more important to save money and drink the whole thing. He rubbed his shoulder and crinked his neck. Smoke got in his eyes. _Time to start up the shower._

He always let it run for a few minutes before stepping in, because he could _not_ stand a cold shower. Shuffling from the bathroom over to the bedroom door, he let Steve into the room. If he didn't keep the door shut, Steve would be walking up his body and craving attention at four in the morning. It was the one thing he hated about Steve.

Just like his hero, Lester, the shower was the high part of Akira's day. He'd let the warm water splash his face, then he'd jack off righteously, and then all downhill from there.

The cigarette was done with and the water was probably hot by now. He flipped the light on in the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.

Akira always got a boost looking at himself, which made him wonder if he was just an asshole, or if everyone else felt the same way about themselves. He figured they didn't. He knew he was lucky.

One of the few things he never doubted in his life was that he was good-looking, and he thanked whoever his birth parents were for that. A smile reflected back in the mirror. A goofy, crooked, and somewhat sexy grin. He put his hand on his hip and started at his own chest. Rock-hard and chisled, just like a pro athlete. The joke of it all was that he was nowhere near an athlete and really had no claim to his own Grecian, statuesque physique—for all intents and purposes, he was a homebody and couch potato who drank maybe a little too much beer and ate more than his share of Pizza Hut and Kraft Mac-n-Cheese. In _no_ way did he deserve this body he'd been blessedwith, and he knew it would catch up to him at any time, so he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. The linings on his stomach like armor would turn to dough, and that would be the end of his morning-mirror-fun-time. But his time hadn't come yet, and he was still rapturing in the gift that good genetics had given him. He loved telling people he used to be a model, which was in fact true. When Akira was eighteen, a talent scout at the local mall had gotten him a gig, but it turned out he was horrible at it. In front of a camera, he was completely clumsy, and it showed. But it was nice to have bragging rights just the same.

A finger ran along his chest muscles where his tattoo started. Ah yes, the tattoo. It was an impulse that he'd indulged when he turned twenty-one, and at first he'd flaunted it, but now kept it hidden. It was a blue Chinese dragon that wrapped from his pecs to his back and around his stomach, basically encasing his entire upper body. It'd taken months to complete and hurt like a bitch to get, but he felt very badass getting it at the time. While his other friends were getting tribal armbands, he was going all out dragon-style.

In retrospect, it was kind of stupid getting a huge oriental tattoo when "he wasn't Japanese".

Just another one of life's little fuckups, but this one was permanent.

Well, weren't they all?

After finishing his shower and toweling off, Akira wandered into the kitchen to start his pot of morning coffee and feed Steve, and then he came back into his room to settle back onto his bed, light another cigarette, and read CNN on his phone. He couldn't afford cable—the TV in the living room was just for the X-Box and the occasional Netflix binge.

A text message popped up. It was his best friend since childhood, David. He was wondering if Akira would still be going with him to the gym tomorrow after work.

It was stupid and kind of expensive, but Akira had agreed to go with him anyways, mostly because he felt sorry for his friend. David was already starting to get heavy, and his wife was nagging on him about it. To appease her, David signed up for the local gym, but refused to do it alone and had guilted Akira into going with him. Only David would dare to text Akira this early in the morning, knowing what time he woke up for work. Well, David, and maybe his mother.

"The things I do for love," Akira muttered to his phone. David was such a worrier. This wasn't even going on until tomorrow night, for Christ sake. Akira figured Susie had asked his friend again to make absolutely _sure_ he was going, and maybe David was having second thoughts and needed reaffirmation that he wasn't going to be all alone and scared at the place where all the manly men sized each other up.

Akira grinned to himself. Of course that was the reason. Being built like he was, Akira already looked like he would have been a regular. David never _could_ stand being the new guy, nor being alone.

Traffic near Chicago was a bitch, and it was something Akira dealt with twice a day. It took about half an hour for him to get to work, and most of that time was spent sitting in gridlock. It could have been worse, though—Akira liked his car, he liked his stereo and singing along with it, and he especially liked smoking. He had a bad habit of it and did it everywhere he could whenever he could. He'd hadn't started smoking until college, where at the time you could still smoke in restaurants and he stayed up smoking and drinking coffee and writing with his colleagues until three in the morning, and it had stuck with him. Besides, it made him feel like a tough guy, and he liked being the tough guy, even if he wasn't really.

Lights started flashing red in front of him and he realized he'd caught the freight train again. It was seven fifty-five. He was definitely going to be late and would probably hear something from Taka about it. _Fucking lovely._

He shifted the car into park and decided to text David back. "Yes, I'm still going to the gym with you tomorrow, you fat pussy." No shortcuts in the text—even with text Akira still considered himself a writer.

Ten minutes had gone by and Akira had his head out the window with an exasperated sigh. He figured he'd better call and let them know he was going to be late. Unlike most of the other people he worked with (and probably against an unwritten company protocol) he didn't set an out-of-office reply when he was gone. He didn't like people to know whether he was coming or going—he just liked knowing that people knew he got shit done. What time he did it didn't matter to him. It always got done quickly, correctly, and if he said so himself, with some very superior service.

"Tiger Medical, this is Taka, how can I help you?"

Akira grimaced and exhaled a cloud of smoke. _Jesus, look at the fucking caller ID for once._

"Taka, it's Akira, I caught a freight train and I'm running late."

There were a few seconds of silence, and then, "You were late twice last week."

"Yeah, well, it's the first time for _this_ week, so I'm ahead of the game."

"Alright. We'll see you when you get here."

He huffed and threw the phone onto his passenger seat. Man, his boss was a dick.

There were usually about a hundred emails waiting for him when he got in, and his co-worker against the wall next to him, Julie, joked that she knew when he got there every morning because she could hear him furiously start clicking away at his keyboard. Julie drove him nuts because she was almost three times his age, acted like she was his mother, and seemed to think he fucked every cute little thing he came across. Akira made sure to give that impression, but he still didn't like her opinion of it.

It was actually the opposite. Despite his model looks, Akira had never had sex once in his life, but nobody but David knew that. It was his deepest, darkest secret.

That wasn't to say that he hadn't messed around here and there and dated his share of girls. Of course he had-he was a man in his twenties. But as soon as things ever started to get serious, he found a reason to break it off. Being physical with girls was nice and all, but he wasn't a fan of being sweaty and hot and stifled with some foreign body that close up. There was something about being that personal with _anybody_ that just turned him off—maybe it was just too real for him. Going all the way was something you could never turn back from, and too real to be a lie for the great liar and former fiction writer named Akira.

He'd gotten down to twenty emails in the inbox when he saw Taka calling him on his line. _Great. Here we go._

Because he knew it would piss Taka off, he pushed up the rap music on his speakers just a little bit. Taka hated it when he played it and Akira hoped Taka could hear it through the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Could you come back here a minute? I'd like to talk to you."

It was probably about the freight train.

"Sure thing, boss." He wheeled around in his chair and found his cube-mate Jennifer smiling back at him.

"Looks like you're in for some shit," she grinned. "Akira just got called into the ooooooffice," she sang to their fellow co-workers. Her song was met with uh-ohs and giggles—Julie was especially excited.

He frowned at Jennifer. "You're such a bitch." She wasn't, though. Jennifer was good at her job and he genuinely liked her. There were much worse people to share a cube with. Not only that, she never tried getting into his pants because she had a decent husband and two kids, despite being close to him in age. For that, she had earned secret props from him. He'd even met the husband and kids. Good people, all.

Matt popped his head up from the short cube wall behind her, his brown and shaggy hair apparently not even combed this morning. "Suck his dick and I'll bet you'll get off easy, Fabio."

Akira glared back at him with furious golden eyes. Fabio was the worst nickname he'd ever gotten in his life, and Matt didn't just use it at work, but on X-Box Live, which was even worse than using it in the workplace. The fact Matt knew he hated it meant he just used it all the more. It was well known that people at Tiger Medical who disliked Akira called him Fabio behind his back, and when Akira found out about it, he'd actually considered chopping his hair off just so it would stop. In the end he couldn't bring himself to do it. So Fabio he remained.

He sunk into the chair across from Taka's desk, awaiting a lecture. Taka loved to lecture.

Even though they didn't get along, Akira still respected him. He'd had worse managers. Taka didn't like Akira's wing-it and cocky attitude, and Akira didn't like Taka's Asian stiffness, but they'd come to peace with one another after a rocky first few months. Akira knew he'd gotten in trouble with Taka right off the bat with his "not Japanese" introduction, and at first Taka had been really hard on him. It was weird for Akira because they were about the same age, and he'd never had a manager like that before. It was just another reminder that some people had achieved more in their short life than he had, and it made him bitter.

As much as Taka was both respected and a little bit feared by everyone at work, Akira viewed him as more a rival than a boss. It wasn't just the age, but the fact that they both had Japanese names and were considered handsome people in their own rights. But the similarities ended there. Taka was married, Taka made good money, Taka was serious, and Taka was polite. Akira was none of those things.

"So, what's up, Taka?" Akira leaned back, crossed his arms around his chest, and wrapped one leg over the other.

Taka reached over the side of his desk and handed Akira some paperwork. "The Schnider deal is set to come through today and the order needs to be entered at the ten percent discount once approved. Management just needs to sign off on it first."

Akira took it and gave Taka a suspicious glance. "So why are you giving it to me? Seems pretty cut and dry."

Taka leaned forward on his desk and crossed his hands together. "I'm taking Miaka out to dinner tonight and I can't stay late if the approval doesn't come in until this afternoon."

Akira shrugged. "So why not just do it in the morning then?"

Taka frowned at him. "There's a surgery on Friday that they need this set for."

Akira looked down at the pages and frowned back. It was an eighty thousand dollar order. Not bad. "I'm going to have to give dispatch a blowjob if they think this thing is going to ship by noon tomorrow if I don't have it entered by this afternoon."

Silence. Akira realized what had just come out of his mouth. He looked up and saw Taka glaring at him with icy blue eyes.

"Please make sure this is entered correctly and ships tomorrow for delivery in California by seven AM Friday morning. I'm not going to repeat myself, Akira."

"Sure thing, boss." Akira got up to leave.

"And also, cut it out with the foul language. You're not in high school. This is a workplace."

"Yep. Got it. Ten-four, captain." Akira saluted the man across the desk.

"And I've about had it with this freight train nonsense in the morning. You need to be at work on time. If you're at risk of catching the train, you need to leave earlier and risk getting here earlier. I'm going to write you up the next time you pull this stunt—train or not. Life is not a fantasy and you are not the hero who gets to stroll in whenever you please."

Akira sank into his chair and threw the papers into the bin on the side of his desk, knowing that everyone was wondering what had happened and if he'd been yelled at. He chewed on his lip, crunched his shoulders, and started whipping out another email. He could feel Jennifer looking at him.

"So how'd it go? What happened?"

"He needs to get fucked by his wife," Akira grumbled.

"But she's imagining _Fabio_ the whole time, and Taka's pissed," Akira heard Matt whisper over the cube. Then louder, "Hey, Akira, you up for some Warframe tonight?"

Akira hated his life.

While stuck waiting in his car for yet another freight train on the way home, Akira smoked and considered what to do with his afternoon. Matt didn't get off for two hours after his own shift today, and he needed to kill some time.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. It was driving him mad that life had become this demeaning and mundane. What had happened to his dreams?

" _If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There's no way around these two things that I'm aware of, no shortcut."_ Stephen King's words rang into his dull mind. King used to be his rock star, his idol. He wanted to _be_ King. King certainly had a cooler name than he did. In fact, Akira had named his cat after his favorite author. He did the cat the diligence his parents hadn't given him and gave _his_ child a name that wasn't totally fucking bizarre. So, Steve.

It occurred to him that it had maybe been a year since he'd actually sat down and read a book. Over time, and as his friends from college married off and moved away, he had started to read less and less. He could still type like the wind and was still a great liar, but his inspiration and sense of adventure were totally gone.

 _Maybe I should go to the library._ The train gates lifted and he considered the idea, but he didn't have a library card. He'd never even been to the library since they'd rebuilt it a few years ago, and not only that, he had no idea what he felt like reading. He no longer kept up with the latest fiction like he used to.

 _Got nothing better to do._ He turned up his stereo as the traffic in front of him started to move again.

He'd gotten some looks as he waited for his new card. There weren't many young people in the library, and nothing irked him as much as older people checking him out. Patience was not once of his virtues, and he started sweating while fidgeting around and waiting. The woman at the front desk had known him since grade school, and she hadn't liked him then, and apparently still didn't. She could tell he was uneasy and probably made him wait longer just because of it. _Gotta love living in a small town. I need to get out of this shithole._

When she was finally done, he wandered to the fiction section and started running his fingertip over the covers. He was overwhelmed, bored, and clueless.

Something caught his eye.

It was a small, red book with a tan spine that looked far different than the rest on the shelf, and even though the side and cover were in either Japanese or Chinese characters, he thought he'd pick it up and peek anyways. The book opened with a puff of dust and he was relieved to see it was written in English on the inside. He turned it over and couldn't find an author on the cover, but figured that maybe it was included with the writing he couldn't understand. It was kind of intriguing to have a book with no mention of what was on the inside—no cover to tease him with, no famous pen name to make comparisons to. If his parents saw him reading it, maybe it would impress them to think he was trying to learn their native language. They'd never pushed it on him—he'd never tried.

"The Universe of the Four Gods," he muttered as he flipped open the first page.

Just how did this book end up here? It looked like it was falling apart.

Well, hell, he was falling apart too. He clapped the book shut and stuck it under his arm. He could handle a story about what he assumed were gods and ninja warriors. Why not?


	2. Chapter 2: Ninety-Nine Problems

Chapter Two: Got Ninety-Nine Problems

Akira swiped the alarm and fell back into bed with his arm draped over his face.

He was slightly hung over. Matt hadn't gotten on Live until almost eight and they ended up playing until well after midnight, and Akira had just been grabbing beer after beer until they were done. He wasn't even sure how many he'd downed, though it hadn't seemed like that many last night.

Second chirp, second swipe.

A sour burp escaped him and he grimaced, feeling bile move up his throat. He'd ordered a pizza for himself and knew it was a bad idea, but he was the kind of guy that did what felt right at the time and dealt with the consequences when they came.

Third chirp—get your butt out of bed.

He opened the door, let Steve in, and lit up a smoke. David had already texted him and Akira rolled his eyes at the message. He'd already forgotten about the gym thing and was regretting it this morning. Never a fan of meatheads, Akira was about to be mingling in their headquarters. He might even run into a few of the old football players from high school, and, well, wait. Would that be so bad? He was the skinny guy who'd grown up to be _Fabio_ , after all. They'd probably be jealous. Nice. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

He walked into the bathroom.

The shower came on and started spurting in bursts. _Great._ The water pressure was going haywire again. Akira hated his landlords and was fully expecting to get kicked out at the end of his lease. He'd signed a clause when he moved in that said he wouldn't smoke in the apartment, knowing full well he'd be doing it nonstop, and they were _not_ happy about it. They'd already told him he wouldn't be getting his thousand dollar security deposit back because of it, so he figured, why stop now? He'd basically already paid for it.

 _'_ _My name is Lester Burnham. This is my neighborhood; this is my street; this is my life. I am 42 years old; in less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet, and in a way, I am dead already.'_

He tripped on his way back to the bedroom and almost burned himself in the face with his cigarette. "Dammit, Steve!"

Akira looked down at the cute black furball with shiny green eyes that was the closest thing to a kid he would ever have, and felt sorry for falling over him. He reached down and petted his friend. "I'm sorry, I love you, little dude."

He noticed the book underneath the cat, and realized he'd totally forgotten about it once he got home the night before. Guilt entered him for not even trying to read it. _Oh well, at least I tried to_ _try_ _reading it. At least I could say I went to the library and am a cultured kind of guy. Shit, maybe I could even impress Taka and tell him I'm reading some fine Japanese literature. He'd probably get a kick out of that one._

He thought better of it, put the cigarette out in the ashtray, and went into the bathroom to achieve the highlight of his day.

Matt was helping him out with the final math on his order and Akira was singing along to his speakers. "I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one!" Collision Course by Linkin Park and Jay-Z. It was his very favorite album.

Akira bounced up and down in his office chair to the music.

"Stop it, I'm trying to think," Matt muttered near Akira's shoulder, furiously erasing one line of numbers on the page with his pencil and starting to write in another.

"I hate that song," Jennifer added. "I wish you'd listen to music that doesn't _suck_."

"That's because _you're_ a bitch and you _ain't_ one of my problems," Akira replied while looking over at Matt's numbers and popping them into the computer in front of him.

"I think Taka screwed up the original numbers on this," Matt sighed while running his finger along the page. He frowned at Akira. "Why couldn't you just do this yourself?"

Akira closed his eyes and smiled at his friend, "If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son…"

"…I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one!" They sang in unison.

"Seriously, _stop it_ ," Jennifer yelled at them.

Akira flipped the bird and looked back over at the page in front of the screen. "Matt, I asked, because the margins are off and I am way too hung over to try to figure out where this whole thing went wrong. You owe me a flavor, boy, because I seriously saved your ass like a billion times last night."

"So what? I pull your ass out of the fryer all the time and that raid was a disaster anyways. That's what you get when they pair you up with ten-year -olds that don't know their own dick from a controller and then they go cry to their mommas and rage-quit on you."

Akira sighed and pulled the paper away from Matt and stared at the numbers in front of him. "I think the whole thing is wrong. I'm going to have to go back into the system and pull all the original costs and re-do the margins myself. This is a pile of heaping dog shit."

Matt pointed at the clock in the corner of the screen. "You've got about half an hour to figure out this pile of eighty-thousand-dollar-dog shit, and then dispatch is going to turn you down on getting this thing through in time to ship today."

"Pfft. I'll just send it to Keith and he'll make sure it gets on the truck. He owes me hardcore."

"Akira, you think _everybody_ owes you hardcore," Jennifer whined.

"I _said_ , I got ninety-nine problems but a bitch _ain't_ one." He wagged his finger at her.

Matt shook his head and turned away. "You're on your own, man. I'm not going to be the one to tell Taka this thing didn't get on the truck and that you're saying _he_ fucked it up in the first place."

"It's cool, it's cool," Akira replied. "Don't transfer me any calls for like, the next hour," he said loudly to everyone around him. "If anybody asks for me, just tell them I'm putting out someone else's flaming pile of dog shit." He leaned over and grinned at Jennifer while slipping on a pair of headphones. " _Or_ , that I'm out banging Jennifer over by dispatch."

The last thing he heard before he put the headphones over his ears was Julie giving out a disgusted cry. Jennifer covered her face in her hands.

In all seriousness though, Akira was ready to strangle Taka right now. He had trusted Taka's math the day before and didn't even bother to imagine that his numbers could have been wrong. They never were with Taka. Management had approved Taka's discount after he'd already left for the day. Akira entered the order with the data Taka had provided and had figured it was a done deal. But when he got in this morning, he got a nastygram from accounting that the margins were way off what had been approved and that the order had to be redone before it could be sent to dispatch for shipping and invoicing. Akira had wanted to walk into Taka's office and confront him about it, but Taka wasn't in.

It was bullshit, and Akira was wondering if Taka hadn't jacked it up on purpose just to screw him over. He was so sure of Taka always being right that he had even called Matt over to double-check when he saw for himself just how off it was. Matt was a huge pain in his ass, but he was really quite the math whiz. Akira saw him as a close second in smarts as far as the office went, and certainly a distant second on overall good looks and witting charm. A good wingman for sure, but eventually Akira would have to pound him into the ground over the whole Fabio thing. Matt must have said it ten times last night on Live. It was pointless. The morons they were playing with didn't even know who Fabio _was_.

Akira went through every line and re-did the math, sure he was right this time. His numbers were worlds away from Taka's original numbers, and he wondered how the man could have been so far off. Where was he getting his information from, anyways?

 _Thanks, man. Thanks. You jack this up on purpose and ditch me with your mess so you can go screw your little Geisha girl. All the way into the morning, even. Over being fifteen minutes late from a fucking freight train._

Part of him was a little jealous, to be honest. But part of him was always a little jealous of Taka.

He'd missed the mark to send the order to dispatch by half an hour, so Akira figured it would probably be best to drive to the shipping area and ask Keith in-person to save his skin. It was an excuse to have a smoke on the way, _plus_ he'd get a few minutes with Keith, _plus_ Taka would owe him hardcore, _plus_ he had a chance to get out of the office. Away from _Julie_.

It was always weird walking into dispatch from the office, because everyone there was in T-shirts and jeans, and in the office it was business-casual, though more business and less casual since Taka had been in charge. The guys in dispatch liked to harass Akira because of his long hair, and dispatch was the original source of his Fabio scourge to begin with. He'd pissed off the manager royally a few years back, the manager made "Fabio" his new word for "Akira", and that'd been his name on this side of the company ever since.

Not with Keith, though, so Akira wasn't worried as he pushed open the glass door to the concrete office.

"Yo, Keith, you get my email?"

Keith swung around in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He stroked his bushy beard and glared at Akira.

"They're loading it now. We're probably going to get hit with extra charges from the shipping company because now they're going to have to stay and wait while we crate this whole thing up. Why the heck did you wait so long to send an order this big?"

Akira pulled out the chair next to Keith and sat in it backwards, overlapping his arms over the back and resting his head over them. His bangs fell into his face.

"Wasn't my fault, I told you that. This was Taka's fuckup. But the bitch of it is that he put me in charge of the whole thing, so it'd be my ass on the line if it didn't get on the truck." He lowered his voice and did his best Taka imitation. "This needs to arrive in California by seven A M."

Keith waved Akira off. "If your ass is on the line, go out and help the guys load it on the truck."

"Naaaah," Akira waved back. "I'm dressed up way too nice for that."

"You dress like shit."

"You love me."

"I know. I have a gay thing for you, _Fabio_. So is that why you came all the way down here to see me?"

Akira wiggled back and forth in the chair, its wheels squeaking on the ground. "Not really. I _seriously_ need to make sure this thing gets on the truck, so I figured I'd go see the man-with-the-plan in person to show just how much he _really_ means to me."

"You're just here because Taka's not there to bitch you out for ditching the office."

"Well, that too."

"So you want to go out tonight for a beer? Blackhawks are playing."

"Nope. Going to the gym with my bestie tonight."

Keith raised a bushy eyebrow. "That sounds really gay."

Akira sighed. "And it totally is. But David's my boy and I promised him I'd go for the last two days, so I figure I'm just going to suck it up and go."

"I figured you were already a gym rat. A _closet_ gym rat, since you never talk about it, which I _dearly_ respect, being the general fat fuck that I am, but a gym rat just the same."

"Nope. Never been to one before in my life, except for back in school."

"Oh please, so you just _naturally_ look like that?"

Akira winked back. " _Saaaay_ , thanks! But seriously, no, I don't do that gym crap."

Keith groaned and turned back to his computer. "You are so full of shit. I don't see why you need to lie about everything all the time. Anyways, I'll make sure this thing gets loaded before the truck leaves. Go back to the office and I'll see you at Adams tomorrow with everybody else. You hardcore owe me at least one beer for this stunt."

"Cool. I definitely owe you a beer, for sure." Akira slapped Keith's shoulder and headed back out the way he came. "I'll take it off Taka's tab. I figure he owes me TEN beers for this."

Akira came back into the office with a spring in his step and snapping his fingers. He leaned down to Jennifer as he got back to his seat. "I am _the_ shit, just so you know, _madam_."

"You actually got that thing loaded?"

"Dispatch hearts this sexy beast, just like you do," he replied as he sunk back into his chair.

"Did you hear what happened to Taka?"

Akira whirled around in his chair, looking intrigued. "Nothing! Do tell! He better have a good reason for blowing me off on this project, after all. He better be dead, or dying, in fact. Or fired."

Matt popped up over the wall. "No, seriously, man! His wife had some hardcore bad seizures or something last night and he's at the hospital with her now!"

Akira's face fell. "Seriously?"

"For real, man."

"Whoa, that's pretty bad. She's a nice gal."

Akira wasn't kidding when he said that, either. Taka's wife, Miaka, was one of the nicest people he could ever remember meeting. She was very cute, short, and well put together, with pretty auburn hair that was always tied back and gentle green eyes. She wasn't really very Asian looking, but had a very thick accent, though she did try very hard at speaking good English. It was clear that Taka was beyond in love with her, too. They were always holding on to one another, speaking quietly in Japanese to one another, and in general just being a little too cute for Akira's tastes. She came in every Tuesday to have lunch with her husband, like clockwork, and was even kind enough to usually bring something in for the rest of the team when she did. Everybody liked her. Akira disliked Taka all the more for having her—she was one of the few girls he'd met in his adult life that he could actually imagine having as a serious girlfriend. Every conversation he'd ever had with her had been pleasant and easy, like they'd been old friends. He even toned down his bad attitude for her, and definitely kept the jokes and sexual innuendo to a minimum as well. It wasn't just for Taka's sake or because Taka was his boss—it was just because Akira felt Miaka deserved better than for him to be a jackass. In fact, when he first introduced himself to her, he was just Akira Kawasaki—no Akira Kawasaki but Not Japanese. He kind of wanted her to think that he _was_ , even though he was sure that within minutes she'd in no way believe him.

"We should do something for her. Can we?" Akira scratched his head in dismay.

"Bad idea, buddy," Matt replied. "Taka does _not_ dig you hanging around his lady, I can tell you that much. I think that's why he hates your ass, besides you being a dick that everyone hates in general. You make her giggle like a schoolgirl. One time I saw him watching you two talk and _man_ was his face getting RED."

"It's true," Jennifer added. "She acts totally different with you than with everyone else, and there is no way in hell that Taka doesn't notice it."

"She does not," Akira replied. He really believed she was the same with everyone.

"Hey man, those Fabio abs and sexy hair can't always be a blessing in life. You gotta take some bad with the good. If I had a girlfriend, I wouldn't let you within a thousand feet of that shit," Matt said. "Hell, I wouldn't even let her on Live with you. You'd sex her up through the headset."

"No man should let his woman anywhere near someone like Akira," Julie chimed in from over the wall. "He's what you call a toxic person. He'll be a bachelor stealing other men's wives and daughters his whole life, and will end up old and alone, just you watch."

All three of them grimaced over in Julie's direction. They always forgot she was listening.

"Matt, the day you have a girlfriend is the day I quit smoking," Akira said after they were sure Julie was done pontificating.

"Actually, Akira, I've got a friend coming over from Wisconsin this weekend," Jennifer started to say.

"And I am _booked_ , sweetcheeks," Akira cut her off. "Don't be trying to set this sexy hunk up with some friend of yours just so you and I can be buddies for life after we shove off this loveboat called Tiger Medical."

"Is she cute," Matt asked.

"She likes smart guys, not fucking morons, Matt. She's a writer, like Akira is. I'd never hook you up with someone like her. I said she's my _friend_ , not someone I completely hate with a passion and I want to have a miserable and sad life with a little video-game-obsessed crack addict for eternity."

"In other words, Matt," Akira winked, "I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one."

Everyone sighed and got back to work.

David looked like he was packing for a camp outing instead of heading to the gym, but Akira wasn't going to be the one to tell him that. To be honest, Akira wasn't really sure what to bring himself, never having been to a gym. He settled with dressing in a tank top and old pair of shorts and bringing just a bottle of water, his wallet, and his keys. He was driving.

In contrast, David had just walked out of his townhouse carrying a full duffel bag while wearing a hair band and fully clad in sweats. It was ridiculous, and as he plopped into the seat next to Akira, Akira hoped that it wasn't showing on his face just how silly and straight out of the eighties his friend looked.

"Yo, David, how's it going? You ready to get pumped?"

David glared back, heaved the heavy bag onto his lap, and slammed the door. "This is a terrible idea and I hate it. Let's just go to Starbucks or something and say we went."

Akira shook his head and laughed while looking over his shoulder and backing the car out of the driveway. "No can do, brother. I'm not letting you get all dolled up like that for nothing. Besides, I'm pretty sure Susie would blame me and not you if we ended up not doing this."

"She thinks I'm fat."

"Yeah, you're kinda chubby, but it's the cute kind of fat, not the _fat_ kind of fat. And besides, I'm pretty sure she's just worried about your overall health instead of how big you are. You're not that big anyways. Just not like…me. You know? Just…average. Kinda." He was losing his battle with the right words.

"Yes, if I just aspired to be a little more like you, my life would be a _dream_."

Akira sighed and shut up. David always could put him in his place, and knew the right thing to say at the right time. It was actually a relief. Akira didn't have to put up any airs around _this_ friend, and since they'd known each other so long, he didn't really have anything to hide or lie about for once.

David knew him since they grew up together in the same Catholic school and met in Kindergarten. He knew Akira hated tomatoes, grew up skinny and shy and awkward, and was absolutely obsessed with comic books and video games since the age of five. He knew Akira thought Captain Picard was the shit and that he was a secret Trekkie, but that he did not like Star Wars. He knew about Akira's first crush all the way to his latest disaster with the last girl he'd finally gotten the nerve to invite to his apartment. He knew about Akira's daring dream to become the world's best known author (besides Stephen King) to knowing just how much he truly hated where he ended up. He knew Akira was the world's best kept virgin secret, and even that his hair was really white and not brown.

"Susie says you should come around more often. She says you've become like a ghost."

Akira switched on the stereo, though he turned it down low. "Just been working a lot."

"Please. You're just playing X-Box and drinking beer. Don't give me that."

"You got me."

"Your mom called, too. She also says you haven't been coming around and that you promised her you were going to rake between the house and garage for them. _I'm_ going to end up doing it if you don't suck it up like a good son and go over there. You know your dad has a bad back."

Akira sighed again. His mother had loved David since the day they'd met and often compared him to his friend. _Why can't you just be nice like David? Why can't you find a nice girl like David? Why couldn't you be something practical, like a doctor, like David?_ If it wasn't Akira comparing himself to Taka and failing, it was his mother comparing him to David, and Akira equally falling flat.

"I'll go over there this weekend and take care of it. You don't have to do that. Besides, she should be calling me about that stuff and not you anyways."

"She said every time she calls you, you're drunk at home or out drinking with your friends."

"Please. Spare me the speech."

"Actually, that's part of the reason I asked you to come with me. Maybe you don't need to work out, though I think it'd be really good for you. You _can't_ be in good health, no matter how you may _look_. You smoke too much, you drink too much, and you sit around too much. It's all bad."

"Hell, David, why would I need my mom to call me when I could hang out with a mother hen like you?"

"I'm just saying you need to get out more, that's all. Like, go to your mom's, come to my house, or even go to the arcade or something. Find some girl on a dating site and go to a café or a movie. You just work and then go home and sit around. It's not healthy."

" _Not_ true. I'm a regular at Adams every Friday night."

"That's just a bar, Akira. And it's with your work friends. That doesn't really count. And like I said, bad for you. You're just sitting there drinking."

" _And_ having a badass time while laughing and getting hit on by the young ladies of Lake County."

"Don't pull that crap with me. You know I hate it."

"Fine, just get off my case already. I told you I'd go to the gym with you and here I am."

David sat quiet for a few moments. "I think you're suffering from Depression."

Akira rolled his eyes and turned up the radio.

That didn't deter David. "No, I'm serious. This isn't a game or a movie, Akira, it's your _life_. You're not Lester Burnham. This isn't American Beauty."

"Just fuck off, David, seriously, and stop playing doctor on me, it's getting really old. Look, we're here." He switched the ignition off with a jerk and sat in the chair for a moment. He didn't want to go into LA Fitness, but he sure as hell didn't want to let this conversation continue, either. "Let's go."

It reminded him of the first day of school, and David looked almost as uncomfortable as he did. Akira followed his friend quietly as they checked in at the front desk, walked past the equipment, and shoved David's duffel bag into a locker. Akira avoided looking at the people huffing and running around them, acting as though he were the only person in the building.

"I didn't even think of bringing a lock and key," David muttered.

"I don't think anyone wants to steal your underwear."

They both stared at one another, neither one really wanting to step out there and admit they had no idea what they were doing, but silent and together they went.

They started off on the treadmills and decided that half an hour at a decent pace would be enough cardio for the night. David made small talk of the hospital he worked at while Akira mostly just listened, pretending to understand half of what David was saying. He had a slight understanding working in the medical field himself, though David's side had all the glory and Akira's side was just supplying the equipment with which to gain said glory.

David also talked about Susie, at which part Akira completely zoned out. He'd never liked the girl, but he did love David, and so he tolerated her by proxy. But he found the woman boring and fake as hell and didn't see what his friend saw in her in the least. It was a good part of the reason he didn't visit often.

While David was talking, Akira scanned the floor below them to look at the fancy equipment he dreaded trying to understand how to use. Just like he thought, there were a bunch of meatheads down there, grunting and checking themselves out in the wall-length mirrors. Akira totally understood the mirror obsession, but couldn't help but judge them all the same. After all, they'd actually put in the work to be proud of how they looked. Akira just grew into it and didn't even have the right.

He noticed one guy pumping weights with crazy fire-engine red hair and wondered why someone would ever actually want to have hair that would stand out in the crowd—he'd spent a lifetime hiding his own.

His thoughts were brought back to Earth with the chime going off on his machine. They stopped and hopped off together. Akira's legs were wobbly and his throat burned. He chugged a sip of his water but realized water wasn't going to do much—his lungs were fried from all the smoking. A short walk on a glorified piece of plastic wasn't going to change that. He had the sinking feeling this whole gym stint would be very short-lived.

"Alright, let's go downstairs and get our strength training in."

"Sure thing, captain."

Akira followed David downstairs and stood next to him as his friend got into a machine that looked like a vice and David wrapped his arms around the white bars. David was already red-faced and puffing, and he hadn't even started really using the machine yet.

That's when Akira locked eyes with the red-haired guy who was pumping iron over his shoulders behind them.

The guy stopped what he was doing and stared right back, halfway through his squat.

Time froze and Akira heard nothing. Those eyes were just as red as the hair. Evil, almost, and horribly familiar. _I know this guy. And I know he's bad news._

But there was no way he could have known him, no way he wouldn't have remembered someone that looked as bizarre as this. He'd seen some pretty weird looking folk back from when he went to raves with his friends in high school and early college, but nothing like this guy.

His bright red hair was short but styled, and his eyes were the same primary color. His skin was tan, like he spent a good amount of time in the sun, or maybe had a little bit of Hispanic in him. Just like Akira, a tattoo covered half his body too, but it wrapped around his right arm and up his back and part of his torso. It was red just like the rest of him, but Akira wasn't sure what exactly the tattoo was supposed to be. His left arm was also covered in a tribal design—red ink, of course.

And red dude was glaring right back at him.

Akira broke the gaze when he heard David start to yell under him. "Akira! Lift this thing up! I'm stuck."

"Shit, sure, hold on."

He grabbed the bars and David sat up, panting. "Hold on, I need to get some water out of my bag. I did _not_ think I was in such bad shape. This is embarrassing. I don't feel good at _all_."

"Sure."

Akira watched David go towards the locker room, and then quickly turned back to the wall to see if red dude was still giving him the staredown. But he was gone.

"I haven't seen you here before, bro."

Akira wheeled around at the voice right behind his ear and froze. It was the red dude.

"What?!"

Red dude laughed under his breath and repeated, "I haven't seen you around before, pretty boy. But I feel like I've seen you somewhere before and I don't forget a face."

Akira was ready to shove this guy into the machine behind him. "Who the hell you think you're calling pretty boy?! What kind of an asshole are you supposed to be?!"

Christ in heaven. He had figured that there were guys at the gym with an over-inflated sense of self-importance, but this red guy was over the top. He deserved a good ass-kicking, if only Akira knew how to dish it. He'd do his best to pretend in the meantime. Already he decided right then and there it was his last time coming to this place, and he and David were leaving ASAP.

"Jesus, chill out, bro, I seriously thought I knew you from somewhere, that's all."

"Fuck off."

They stood there for a moment, Akira glaring with mad hate, and red dude looking very surprised.

Surprised, but unfazed. "So where'd you get that tatt?" He motioned to Akira's torso. "It's cool."

"I said, fuck off, _bro_." Akira felt his blood pressure rising, because he could feel his throat tighten up and start to pulse underneath it. For the first time he was glad he was built like a brick shithouse for reasons other than the fact that he just happened to look like a brick shithouse for the jealousy and admiration of others.

He was maybe getting into more than he could handle, and he knew it. This guy was clearly beyond just a gym rat—he was maybe a trainer, an athlete, or even a marine, though that was doubtful since hair and eyes like that would never be accepted in any official kind of job. But in short, this guy too, was another brick shithouse, and likely knew a hell a lot more about throwing a punch or kicking ass than Akira did. Where was David, anyways? Akira looked back towards the locker room.

"Your buddy looked ready to puke, by the way," the red dude mentioned to him.

Akira had no idea what to say to that, because he had been thinking the same thing himself. Like everything else he did, David had pushed himself too far right off the bat, and wearing such heavy sweats hadn't been a good idea in the sweltering gym.

Red dude offered him a big, tan hand wrapped in some kind of white tape. "Name's Reed."

Akira didn't know what else to do other that take the hand and shake it back. He was still glaring at Reed; he couldn't help himself. This guy was clearly trouble. "Akira."

Then came the look he always got when the name came rolling out. "You don't look Asian at all."

"I'm not."

They were still shaking hands. Akira felt like this asshole was going to crush his fingers.

"That's cool. Just sayin."

Still they shook hands. Akira was pretty sure this guy's grip was tightening, and couldn't help but feel just a little bit afraid. Maybe that was a gang tattoo, or something. Maybe Reed was a hitman.

"So, what are you supposed to be, a vampire or something," Akira asked.

The handshake stopped. "What?"

"I mean, the hair, the contacts…don't you think it's a bit much, _bro_? Red your favorite color, just _maybe_?"

Reed dropped his hand and glared back. " _Wow_ , you're kind of a jerk. But yeah, sure, I like red fine, would be pretty hard not to. The ladies dig it, so I'm all good. And I think your _yellow_ contacts are cool too."

Akira closed his eyes and sighed. This guy was a total fruitcake, and was probably hitting on him from the sound of it. It happened sometimes. But the 'yellow contacts' thing had struck him. Most people had enough tact to mention what 'pretty hazel eyes' Akira had. Only David had ever dared call them 'yellow', and that was back in grade school when they were just learning colors.

"That's great for you. I'm going to go check on my friend."

Akira started to leave, but the guy gripped his wrist and held him back. "Hey, you got a smoke on you?"

"What?!"

"You smell like smoke, and I just ran out. So I thought I'd ask. Seeing as I thought I knew you, and all."

Akira threw his Reed's wrist off his arm. "Are you high, man? What's your deal? Are you hitting on me or some shit? Is that what this is?"

Reed laughed and put his hands up in the air. "Wow, _bro_ , you are seriously uptight. And I am hardcore NOT hitting on you. I just wondered if you had a smoke on you or not."

"Why the fuck would you ask someone that at a gym? I thought the whole point was 'healthy living'."

"Shit, man, I don't care about health or even pumping iron. I just come here to pick up tail." Reed shrugged.

Akira stared back at him and wondered. Well, if nothing, this guy was probably being honest. He looked back towards the locker room.

"If you don't have one, that's cool, just say so," Reed added. "I was just asking. Didn't expect you to flip out on me."

Akira answered against his better judgment and reason, "Come on, I've got some in my car."

Akira questioned his sanity as he marched out of the building and into the brisk autumn night. After being in such a sweltering area, the cold was quick, and he ended up with goosebumps and a little bit of a shiver. But his blood was pumping just as well as if he were prey being stalked. With every step farther he got the sinking feeling he was making a serious error in judgment.

He stopped at his blue sedan and clicked the doors to unlock, reached in, grabbed his pack, pulled out a cigarette, and shoved it at Reed.

Reed, on the other hand, didn't seem phased at all, and Akira started to wonder if this guy pan-handled getting smokes at the gym as a regular thing.

"Smoke's no good without a light," Reed motioned, putting the stick between his lips. "I need a light."

"You're going to smoke it right now?"

"Um…yeah. Why?"

Pissed, Akira grabbed his own cigarette out of the pack, lit up, and then offered the lighter to Reed. He angrily blew out a wisp of smoke that wafted into the moonlit air.

Reed lit up and handed the lighter back.

"Thanks. So…you say you don't know me, but I kind of think that's bullshit."

"Man, I think I'd remember seeing somebody like you. You stand out just a _tiny_ bit."

Reed shrugged again. "That's how I roll."

 _That's my line_. Akira smoked in silence, leaning back against the car. He figured David was going to freak out when he came out of the locker room, and then when David found him out here, he was going to get a good lecture about the dangers of smoking after a workout on TOP of hanging out with bizarre-looking strangers.

"So what are you so pissed about," Reed asked, eying him.

"What makes you say I'm pissed?"

"Because you're pissed."

"Listen, _bro_ , how would you feel if some fruitcake started getting up in your face and called you a pretty boy?"

Reed laughed. "So that's it? _That's_ what pissed you off? Man, I was just tossing you a compliment. Not many guys out there as fuckin' hot as myself, if I do say so, and you walk around like you know you're hot shit, so I just figured you'd think it was funny. Like I said, I thought I knew you, so I was just joking around. Just trying to knock you down a peg. You look like you kinda need it, and besides, this is _my_ tail-grabbing place, and I figured you were stepping in on my territory. I mean, hell, we've even got matching tattoos. You're clearly ruining my game."

"You can _have_ your tail-grabbing place back, and I told you already, I don't know you, _bro_. As soon as my buddy comes back, I'm getting the fuck out of here and you'll never see me again."

"Hey, like I said, it's cool. I mean, really, stop flipping out on me. I was just going to offer you a beer."

"A beer at the gym, huh? Sounds like a real cool way to grab some tail."

Reed shook his head and exhaled. "Not now, man. This weekend. Come over to my place."

"You _are_ hitting on me."

"I'm not. _Seriously_. I just can't get over this feeling that I know you from somewhere, and it's driving me batshit. Here." Reed reached into his sweatpants pocket and fished out a small wad of paper. He tossed the finished cigarette to the ground with his other hand. "This is my number. Give me a call. I'll pick up."

"I'm not gay. Sorry. Not going to call you."

Reed shoved it at him again. "Alright, I get it. And you're probably thinking it's weird I just happen to have my number on me, but like I said, this is where I pick up chicks." He offered it again. "Seriously. Just take it. Doesn't mean you have to call me, doesn't mean you're gay. It just means thanks for the smoke, I owe you a beer, and you can give me a call and we can figure out where we know each other from."

Akira snatched it from him and tossed his own cigarette on the ground. "You're fucking weird."

Reed laughed and started to walk off towards what Akira assumed was his own car. "Sure as shit! But _not_ gay!" Akira could still hear him laughing as he walked off into the distance of the parking lot.

David soon came huffing out of the gym, crouching a bit under the weight of all the things he didn't need in that bag. " _Akira_! What the heck are you doing out here! I was looking all over for you! I had to ask the front desk where the hell you went!"

Akira, meanwhile, was staring at the piece of paper in his hand and was wondering what the hell just happened and what the hell he was going to do about it.

"Seriously! What the _heck_ are you doing?!" David puffed up and stood right in front of him, red in the face and definitely furious. But not scary. Akira could never find him scary. David was short and nearly a foot smaller than he was. Akira's nickname for his friend was 'Shortcake'. Right now, David was a very mad kind of Shortcake. Shortcake at his most frightening couldn't hold a candle to the primal fear that red dude had just struck in Akira. Not by a longshot.

"I went out for a smoke. You were in there a while."

"Because I had to fucking _puke_! And then my locker got _stuck_! And then I was looking all over for _you_!" David pushed him in the stomach.

"Sorry. For real. I didn't know you were getting sick. I had no idea what you were doing."

"So you went out for a cigarette and just _left_ me in there?! What the _heck_ is wrong with you? Don't you know that smoking after cardio is seriously, _seriously_ , bad for your lungs? Just how hell-bent are you on dying before you hit thirty?"

 _'In_ _less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet, and in a way, I am dead already.'_

"Like I said, sorry. Let's go home. I'll even come in and say hi to Susie and tell her what a great job we did."

David shoved past him and opened the car door. "She knows you just lie all the time. You're just a fucking liar. _All the time_." He slammed it shut behind him.

It was going to be a really long ride home. Akira sighed up at the moon, shoved the wad of paper into his pocket, and got into the car to drive David back.


	3. Chapter 3: It's Cool

Chapter Three: It's Cool

The chirping didn't come sudden this morning—Akira had been waiting for it. Waiting for it and dreading it.

"Awww…fuck me!" He leaned over and swiped the alarm to stop.

He pulled the pillow over his head and buried his face in the mattress.

After dropping what was probably the angriest version of David he'd ever seen in his life off at his townhome, he drove back to the apartment in a stupor, but not before stopping at the liquor store. He picked up a case of Miller and two packs of Camels and drove home with the radio off, which was unusual for him.

When he got back to his apartment, he refilled Steve's kibble dish, put his American Beauty DVD in the X-Box, and plopped in front of the TV with his beer and his cigarettes. He watched the movie but wasn't thinking about it.

 _Just who the fuck was that guy?_

Akira was absolutely sure he'd seen Reed before, but could not for the life of him figure out where. He also knew very much that Reed was trouble—bad news all around, and also had no idea _why_. He pulled the wad of paper out of his pocket and stared at the number, thinking maybe he would call it.

 _No. I am not calling that asshole. That guy was a major dick. And also probably gay._

Was that why he was so bent out of shape? Because he'd been hit on by a gay guy?

It wasn't the first time it happened, not even close. It actually happened to him most often when he used to frequent the arcades a few years ago. You wouldn't really expect it, but there they were, and damn, they thought they were cute. They weren't really any different than the girls that had hit on him; they were just guys that liked guys. In fact, Akira had been more amused than anything. He wasn't that offended at the time, so why so furious now? Was it more because he thought this guy looked every bit as good as he did and not because he thought Reed was gay? Was it that simple?

The movie ended and he went on to the director's commentary version without a hitch. He had no idea what time it was. Empty cans surrounded him. Steve was asleep at his feet.

He woke up shivering and realized he had passed out in front of the couch and the TV had turned black. He'd been sitting there so long the X-Box had turned itself off.

Akira was drunk as hell, but managed to get down the hall and fall into bed, still in his gym clothes.

Now the morning alarm went off again. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" He swiped the phone silent.

 _I am calling in today. I am fucking wasted._

Then he remembered what had happened to Miaka the day before, and that there was a good chance that Taka might not even be there today, which would mean he would have to call Jeff, Taka's boss, if he was going to call in.

Jeff was a very no-nonsense kind of guy, even more than Taka. If you were calling in to Jeff, you had better be dead, dying, or your wife was having seizures in the hospital. Calling in clearly wasted was the death knell of your career at Tiger Medical. Akira had seen it happen before.

Plus, they had a sales meeting at ten, and he hadn't even finished his presentation.

The alarm went off for the third and final time. "Oh…my god. Just…fuck my life."

There would be no high point in the shower today. He just had to get up and go. He was starting off at the bottom of the hill already, and there was nowhere to go down from there.

Getting back to work ended up being good for Akira. He looked (and felt) horrible walking through the door, but was pleased to find a thank-you email from Taka about the Schnider order. He also found out that Miaka was doing better and was out of the hospital, but that Taka wouldn't be making it in for the day, instead taking care of her at home. So that was two more good things.

He had sobered up by the time he had to do his presentation, and when he realized by the end that he had blown his co-workers out of the water on sales for the quarter, had gotten a little bit of his cocky nature back, and even gathered up the gall to ask Jennifer if she had a prize waiting for him after the meeting.

To his surprise, she offered to buy him a coffee if he would use his lunch to take the run. He said that he sure as shit would. He needed some coffee anyways.

But everything finally stopped coming up Akira when he reached the drive-thru line at Starbucks. It was wrapped around the corner of the building.

"Son of a bitch." He hated having to go in anywhere that he could be lazy and take the drive-thru option and smoke while waiting in line, but he only had half an hour for lunch, and it took him ten minutes to get there as it was. He didn't want to risk having a long lunch after coming in late the other day, so he sucked it up and walked inside, cursing under his breath.

The good thing about walking inside of Starbucks was the smell. God, did he love the smell of coffee. It was one of the best things in the world. It also was not nearly as crowded on the inside as the drive-thru line was, so he was stoked about that. He'd make it back in time. Hell, maybe he'd even get Matt a coffee for helping him out yesterday, even though he'd proven useless in the end. Maybe he'd even confuse the holy hell out of Jennifer too and get her a coffee just for being awesome in general, and also since she'd been cool enough to offer to buy him one in the first place.

There were only two girls in front of him in line, and one of them had a nice ass and short shorts, so he stood behind them and looked up at the menu, trying to decide what his friends might want to drink, and then occasionally back to ass. The brunette in front of him gave him the look he was used to getting, and started whispering to the red-head with her, who also turned around to look at him.

He could feel them staring at him and looked back. The brunette was nothing to write home about.

But the red-head?

 _Am I still drunk?_

She was, without a doubt in his mind, the prettiest girl he'd ever seen in his 42-year-Lester-Burnham life.

He felt the blood drain from his face as her green eyes met his. Unbelievable. He didn't dare look away, because if he did, he'd be looking in places she wouldn't appreciate, and that would be the end of that.

Akira tried to swallow and couldn't manage it.

The barista at the counter told the girls their total and they turned back around. Akira lunged between them and shoved a twenty on the counter, looking up at the barista with panic in his eyes.

"It's cool! I've got it."

The girls looked at each other over his shoulders. Silence from all four parties. The brunette spoke first. "Hey, thanks, that's really nice of you!"

Akira just continued to stare at the barista, who was looking down at him, somewhat concerned.

"Okay…so, sir, did you want to add to the order?"

"Yeah, give me three more of what they're having."

"That's…going to be more than twenty dollars, and they're…having two different drinks."

Shit. Of course they were. He had no idea what he was doing. "Three Iced Venti Pumpkin Spiced Lattes. And…also their stuff."

The barista was still staring at him, as were the girls at each of his sides. He fumbled into his pocket and slapped another twenty on the counter. He was just glad he remembered what he ordered as the usual for himself, and hoped that Jennifer and Matt would like the same thing.

But who gave a shit about that? Who gave a shit about Matt and Jennifer and their fucking coffees?

"Alright, this is a kind of big order. But I'll have it for you as fast as I can."

"It's cool, thanks."

"Is this for here or to go," the barista asked while getting back down to business.

The brunette answered before he could. "It's for here."

Shit. He was on lunch. He couldn't stay here. "But the three iced ones for me are to go," he butted in.

"Oh, that sucks you can't stay with us," the brunette whined as Akira watched the barista move away while he was still in panic mode. "I mean, you just spent ten bucks on coffee for us and we can't even sit and thank you."

"It's cool," Akira replied, wanting to look to his right, but instead keeping his eye on the barista.

If he found himself saying 'It's cool' one more time, he was going to slap himself in the face. He was better than this. He had to be.

"So…what's your name?"

Of course, the brunette seemed to be the brains of the operation, and that just about served him right.

He stood back up straight and backed out from between them, and they walked over to the side of the counter, awaiting their drinks. There was already another man standing behind them, waiting to place his order with the barista who had returned to her post.

Akira followed behind the two girls and just looked at the top of the red-head's long hair. She was pretty short. And she was also the one with the nice ass, he was as sure of that as he was sure she was short.

"So…your name is…?"

He blinked back to life and wrung his hands together before offering his palm to the brunette. "I'm Akira. And you are?"

She smiled wide. "Sarah, and this is my friend, Rosa. You…don't look Japanese."

"I'm not. It's cool." Realizing what he just said, Akira shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from slapping himself in the face.

He was really glad he'd mustered up the energy to shower this morning, but also embarrassed that he was wearing what he called his 'end of the line' clothes. It _was_ Friday, after all, and he did his laundry on weekends. So Friday meant he grabbed whatever was clean, or even what just _looked_ the most clean. The pants weren't even really clean. They were just recycled from Monday. And did he still smell like beer? Were his eyes red? Did he even comb his hair this morning? He couldn't remember.

"So…do you live around here?"

He snapped back to present tense and looked back at Sarah. "No, I work down the road. I'm just on lunch."

"Oh, I see."

"Yeah, it's cool."

Jesus. _Really?_ He fancied himself a wordsmith and 'It's cool' were the only two words he had left? What, was he twelve?

The barista put all five coffees on the counter, and it occurred to Akira that he didn't even grab his change from earlier. He had just pissed away forty bucks on coffee. Matt and Jennifer now officially owed him their souls.

The girls looked at one another again and grabbed their coffees off the counter. "Well, thanks, Akira, it was nice to meet you!" They started to walk past him and to the back of the café.

Akira stopped them by grabbing Rosa's wrist. "Wait."

This time the red-head answered him. "What?"

"Do you girls want to come out with me and some of my friends to Adams tonight?"

Sarah crinkled her face in disgust. "No way, that place is a dive."

Rosa nodded in agreement. "And expensive," she added, while sipping out of her straw. She had really nice lips.

 _Expensive? Are you kidding me? I just bought you both five-freaking-dollar-coffees._

Akira reached back and scratched his head. This was it, sink or swim. He was a damn fine swimmer, but he had to get back to work. If Jeff was doing payroll today, his ass was grass. "Alright, here." He grabbed his receipt and reached over the counter and found a pen, and then scratched his cell number on the back of the piece of paper. "Give me a call if you guys want to hang out. I've got to get back to work."

He shoved the paper in Rosa's hand, hoping her friend Sarah would get the hint, but he somehow doubted it. They gave one another concerned looks, and Rosa answered him. "Cool…thanks…I guess?"

"It's cool," he replied.

 _Son of a bitch._ He gathered his three iced coffees in his arms and ran out of Starbucks.

Akira almost dropped the drinks several times on the way back. He had no idea that they would be so slippery and he had completely forgotten to get a cup holder for the ride back to the office. He stuffed coffee in every place he could fit in the car, nearly dropped them trying to open the front door to the office, and now again nearly dropped them all on Jennifer. He'd never been given more trouble with a bunch of beverages in his life, but he supposed it could have been worse. They could have been hot coffees.

Jennifer watched Akira reach over the short wall and hand one of the drinks to Matt, who was just confused by the gesture.

"What the heck," Jennifer grumbled. "I said I would buy YOU a coffee, I didn't say anything about buying HIM a coffee." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not paying for his coffee."

"It's cool, I just bought for everyone." Akira was panting. He was out of breath.

Julie yelled over the cube wall. "Akira, did just say you bought coffee for everyone?"

Matt grinned and tapped his wrist three times with his index finger, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Thanks for the coffee, Fabio, but did you manage to check the _tiiiiime_? You better clock back in, stat."

"Shit!" Akira whirled back to his computer and frantically pulled up the window for the time clock and punched back in. Forty-two minutes, and time hadn't been approved for the week yet, which meant that Jeff would be personally reviewing it this afternoon.

Matt snickered and snuck back down in his seat with his coffee, and Jennifer just shook her head. "I'm going to agree with Matt on this one. Thanks for the coffee, Fabio, but you're in for some shit."

Akira groaned and sank in front of his computer before mushing his face in his freezing hands. "It's…cool."

Akira sat in silence and sipped his coffee in quiet anger, clicking on emails and adding them to his to-do list but doing nothing else with them. He let the phone ring and didn't pick up any calls. Voicemails started to pile up and the little red light on his headset was flashing at him.

 _Am I losing my shit? Did that Rosa girl just seriously make me lose my shit?_

 _Keep it cool, Akira. Keep it cool._

 _Yep, "it's cool", alright._

About an hour had gone by, and he saw Jeff's name pop up on his phone. Akira picked up and said hello.

"Akira, could you come back to my office for a minute?"

He closed his eyes and grabbed his forehead with his free hand and rubbed his temples. "Yep, it's cool. Be right there."

He hung up the receiver and stood up.

 _Son of a bitch._

Akira pulled up a stool and sat at the table with his four friends in their usual spot in the corner of the bar. He plopped his beer in front of him and looked at them, who appeared to have been waiting for him. It made sense. Keith and Kain from dispatch (and Akira was always thankful for Kain being there, if only for the sake that they could both share the fact that they had weird names) got off work at four, Jennifer and Matt got off at four-thirty, and he was stuck until five because of being late from the train and for lunch.

"So…what happened, Akira," Jennifer asked. "Did Jeff chew you out? You didn't say shit when you got back, and I wasn't going to ask back there."

"No doubt," Matt added, while taking a sip of his beer, "Not going to fuck with Jeff. That guy is one serious dude. Taka is pretty hardcore, but that Jeff dude is just s _erious_. I'd hate to have to answer directly to him."

"They run you guys pretty hard in the office," Kain said. "I'd hate working _there_. Anybody with common sense would. Taka and Jeff are both dicks."

"It was fine," Akira offered. He downed a good chunk of his beer before continuing. "I just had to work late and make up time."

It was not fine at all, in fact. Jeff gave him some very serious holy hell about the Schnider order. He was the one who'd caught the fact that the numbers had been jacked up the day before, and had sent accounting after Akira to fix it the following morning. So Akira was written up for the mistake, but he wasn't going to throw Taka under the bus. Jeff would have never believed Taka would have been the one to mess up the numbers, and besides, Miaka had just gotten out of the hospital. Throwing Taka under the bus would have been the ultimate fuck-you and probably wouldn't have worked anyways.

Jeff also talked to Akira about his tardiness at least once a week, his music, his language, and apparently Julie had spoken to HR about his sexually charged comments to Jennifer. On top of that, Taka would be leaving work off and on over the next week to take care of Miaka, and Akira was going to be the one to cover Taka's accounts while he was out of the office. They were mostly corporate accounts, and Akira had really no idea how to work them or what the special rules were. But try telling that to Jeff.

"It's cool," he sighed.

"Julie was seriously pissed that you didn't get her a coffee," Matt said as he finished off his glass and hiccupped. The kid was barely over twenty-one and it showed every Friday night.

Akira frowned and swirled his glass around in front of him. "Fuck Julie."

Kain laughed. "That woman is batshit crazy. Every time she calls dispatch, she asks for me, and sweet talks me like I'm her best friend or something."

"That's because I won't pick up when she calls," Keith reminded him. "Bitch stabbed me in the back once on an order. I know better than to pick up that phone now."

"She seriously thinks that you guys all want in her pants," Jennifer laughed, and then they all laughed together. Everyone but Akira. "She says the same thing to me about the reps she works with. These guys are literally like half her age, and I'm telling you, the shit she tells me about what she'd like to do to these guys would make the hair on the back of your neck stand up straight. You should hear the way she talks about our Japanese friend here when he's not there." She gestured at Akira.

"Sounds just like Fabio," Matt grinned. "Everybody wants in their pants."

They kept on talking, but Akira just leaned over his glass of beer, staring at the liquid. He was really glad it was Friday and that he had no plans for the next few days. He planned to spend the whole time in bed.

Was he really losing it? If he was, he couldn't let these guys know. David knew he was coming apart at the seams, and that Reed guy seemed to think the same thing. And then today, in front of Rosa, he completely lost it and couldn't even muster up anything other than 'It's cool'?

God. He had seriously just met the woman of his dreams and had proven to her that he had a vocabulary of a whole two words. Dressed in Monday's clothes. Probably smelling of beer. He still wasn't even sure if he'd combed his hair this morning.

"Guys, I think I'm going to call it a night." Akira slumped off the stool and grabbed his now empty glass.

"Serious, Akira? I was going to buy you a couple tonight. I mean, one Starbucks costs like two of these things, and it looks like you had a rough day." Jennifer waved her glass in front of him.

"Serious, Jennifer. I'll take a rain check. It's cool."


	4. Chapter 4: Telling Stories

Chapter Four: Telling Stories

It was the light coming through the bedroom blinds in rays that finally made him stir in bed.

He couldn't see because his hair was in his eyes and matted to his face.

Akira leaned up on his elbows and stared as his feet poking up under the covers. He felt like he was going to chuck his lunch again, and it wouldn't have been the first time today.

When he'd gotten home the night before, he pulled a beer out of what was left of his case and sat down on the couch after pulling his work clothes off and dumping them on the floor. He lit a cigarette and stared into the dark while sitting in his boxers, wondering if he was actually losing his mind, because the more he thought about it, the more he had that same strange feeling about Rosa, the redhead, that he'd had about Reed the day before. He knew her from _somewhere_.

It seemed a little more likely because she was less bizarre looking than Reed was, but then again, if Akira had ever seen a girl with that face before, he probably would have remembered it just as well as he'd remember the fire-engine red hair, eyes, and tattoo of Reed. The tattoo that mattered, anyways. The tribal one was the usual crap.

He tossed the empty can on the floor and grabbed another one from the case. It was warm and tasted like shit.

Maybe he was just getting a thing for redheads.

He finished that beer in the dark too, and then went into the kitchen and grabbed a bucket he kept under the sink for just such an occasion, which did happen sometimes. Bucket in one hand and remaining case of beer in the other, he made his way back into his cold bedroom. Akira was just going to sit in the dark and drink until he passed out. He was already getting too drunk to trust smoking cigarettes with his down comforter around him.

So he plopped the bucket next to the bed, plopped the case of beer next to him on the sheets, and beckoned for Steve to come sit on his lap.

That was how he spent the night until he passed out and couldn't think any longer.

But now it was a new day, a new dawn, and at least he had the day off. He had a raging headache and salt was coming up in his mouth, warning that he was going to throw up within a minute or two. He slid over to the side of the bed and got ready.

He threw up. He waited a minute or so, and did it again.

Akira moaned and threw himself back on his pillow while covering his face from the slits of light coming through the window. The remaining cans in the case of beer clinked against one another next to his arm. He craned his neck up and peered into the box. There were three cans left. That meant he'd polished off twenty one cans in two days. _Good job, Akira. You are clearly winning at life just about as good as Charlie Sheen did. But minus the money and call-girls. Even better._

His gut wrenched and he quickly threw himself over the side of the bed again to throw up in his bucket.

Akira wiped his lips and looked up at the nightstand in desperation. Thank god. There was a can of Coke sitting among some ashtrays. He quickly grabbed it and downed a few gulps of tepid syrup. This thing had to at least have been a few days old. It was horrible, but better than drinking a warm beer with a raging hangover.

When he was sure he wasn't going to throw up again for at least a few minutes, he sat up in his sheets and grabbed a crunched up pack of Camels from the nightstand. He shook it and looked inside. There were two left. It just dawned on him that he hadn't picked any more up the night before. At some point today, he was going to have to leave the apartment.

 _Awesome._ He pulled off the covers, moved his legs over the side of the bed, and held his throbbing head in his hands. His hair had fallen out of the ponytail so bad it couldn't even be considered tied back anymore. It was almost time to dye the hair again. Of course, he could always just go white and run to the gym and pick up chicks with his sexy hair and matching tattoo. He could really trample Reed's gaming grounds.

"Give me a break." He pushed against the wall and window and leaned on the corners of the bed before he swayed his way over to the bathroom and flipped the light on.

Akira looked like shit today, no doubt about it. It wasn't even worth looking in the mirror and giving himself the daily affirmation of how awesome he was. He wasn't going to take a shower either. He was going to wait until he was out of smokes and run to the gas station looking like a hobo. He didn't give a shit what the old Indian woman there would think of him.

He stumbled back into the bedroom and flipped his stereo back on. His Radiohead CD started to play, and that was fine. He was not in the mood for any badass music today.

His phone was blinking on the nightstand and he lunged over and grabbed it before shoving Steve and the almost-empty case of beer aside. He grabbed it and squinted at the screen through his bloodshot eyes.

It was 3:48pm. Christ. He'd slept so long most of his day would have been over if he were at work.

There were a bunch of texts, but no voice messages. He lit up one of his two last cigarettes and decided he'd just go through them one-by-one.

MOM – 8:03pm – Are you coming by tomorrow?

JENNIFER – 9:15pm – R U OK? U seemed sad at the bar

MATT – 11:05pm – WARFRAME?

KEITH – 11:40pm – Dude am drunk as shit wanna swing by and git drunk w me

MATT – 1:17am – UR SHIT SUK TAKAS DIK JK HAVE GOOD NIGHT BUT U STIL SUK

MOM – 8:23am – Are you coming by today?

DAVID – 9:30am – 70 degrees outside today want to go for a walk or something

MOM – 12:04pm – Dad and I need you to rake the leaves today.

DAD – 12:17pm – Get over to the house we told you we need help raking leaves

DAVID – 1:18pm – Are you drunk. Should I come over. Your mom called me

KEITH – 2:05pm – Want to go see Thor today Im bored and hungover lol

UNKNOWN NUMBER – 2:45pm – I owe you a coffee. Want to come get one with me?

He scratched his head and read the last message a few times before taking a long drag on his cigarette. Akira decided it was the only one he was going to reply to. It had only been sent an hour ago, and maybe they would text him back.

AKIRA – I have to go to my parents' house and rake leaves today. Who is this?

He waited, finished his cigarette, and sat in the dark, staring at his phone. Akira was not going to get his hopes up. He knew damn well the brunette seemed a lot more interested in him than Rosa did, and he was not feeling overly optimistic about his day so far. He'd have a lot of explaining to do to a lot of people once he was sober.

 _'_ _My name is Lester Burnham. This is my neighborhood; this is my street; this is my life. I am 42 years old; in less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet, and in a way, I am dead already.'_

UNKNOWN NUMBER – This is Rosa. I met you at Starbucks yesterday. You bought me coffee.

 _Well, shit._

He blinked a few times at the screen in spite of himself. She actually used punctuation on the damn phone.

AKIRA – I remember you. Sorry for seeming so stupid. I was stressing from work.

He waited for a text back, not sure what she'd say.

ROSA – It's cool. LOL.

Laughter echoed louder in his room than Thom Yorke's voice on the stereo. That was the last thing he expected. He really liked this Rosa girl. He really did.

Akira bought two packs of cigarettes but no beer at the gas station. He wasn't going to drink any more today, he decided, and if he changed his mind, he still had three cans left at the apartment. He was right and the woman at the counter could not have cared less that he was hadn't showered and was wearing an old shirt he'd had since he was about fifteen with Pokemon littered across the front. He figured she'd probably seen worse, and frankly, he was beyond giving a shit anyways.

His mother finally called when he was back at his driveway. She asked him how he was feeling and told him in a polite but cold voice that David had come and raked the leaves for them. _Of course he had._ Akira told her he'd gotten sick at and couldn't come over today, but maybe he would swing by tomorrow and visit with them. He told her he'd make it up to David by fixing his tilting fence.

Akira still wondered if he should text Rosa back as he pushed the front door open and stepped into his living room. He was more sober now and felt he could maybe send something back that wasn't totally ridiculous. It wasn't that he had to; her final response to him wasn't a bad way to end the conversation at all and left him feeling like he could pick it back up at any time. But what would he say?

 _Nice ass? Do you like your men like you like your coffee—hot and strong?_

Akira groaned at himself and stared at the blank TV screen. He had to find something to do. He sat down on the couch and whipped out his phone and lit up a cigarette. He texted back.

AKIRA – I'm really sorry I can't go with you today, but how does tomorrow sound?

She texted back right away.

ROSA – Sounds good to me. Meet me at 2?

AKIRA – Sure thing. See you tomorrow.

He thought for a moment, and then added another text.

AKIRA – Please don't bring a friend.

ROSA – It's cool. Just you and me and I'm buying the coffee this time.

He licked his lip and stretched his toes out. Then he punched his fists into the air and kicked his feet onto his coffee table. _Yes!_

Akira had cleaned up his bedroom that afternoon. He took the last three cans of beer and put them in the fridge, took the bucket out and dumped it in the backyard and rinsed it out with the hose, and made his bed. He was fixing the edge near the bathroom when he stubbed his toe.

It was the book from the library.

He picked it up and thumbed the worn edges.

Why not read it? He had nothing better going on and wasn't up to doing much else. His phone vibrated as he got another message and he felt his heart race despite himself.

MATT – WARFRAME?

AKIRA – Fuck you and fuck Warframe. Go raid with your ten-year-old friends and their moms.

MATT – SUK TAKAS DIK U POS

AKIRA – I would but I don't like the taste of your spit.

Yeah, he was finally feeling better. He was just going to lie in bed and read the rest of the day, old-school college-style.

It was well into morning when he finally put the book down on the bedspread. He'd read the whole thing, front to back, in one sitting, and with barely any cigarettes and only one Coke.

 _That was really some kind of head trip. I wonder who wrote it?_

Not that he was really one for romance novels, which this ended up being, but he thought it was a good story, even without the ninjas he'd been initially expecting when he picked it up at the library. He hated that a few of the characters had died, especially Hotohori (who Akira could relate to because he was also beautiful) and also that Nakago (the bad guy) had just basically let Tamahome (the good guy) kill him like that towards the end. Tasuki (the awesome bandit) was definitely his favorite, and he found it odd but cute that Miaka, the Priestess of Suzaku, had the same name as Taka's wife. It made the story feel…closer to home, and maybe even helped him understand the relationship between his boss and his wife a little better. Miaka and Tamahome were hell-bent on one another, just like his Miaka and Taka. It was fitting.

He'd like to have a god grant him three wishes. He'd make them right now, in fact. Rosa, Rosa, and for the third one, Jeff drops dead. _Nice._

Akira scratched his stomach and thought of his tattoo—a blue dragon, just like the destructive god in the book. It was like rooting for the bad guys, but he realized he'd never actually named the thing. Seiryu. It was a decent name.

 _Seiryu._

Akira rested his head on his hand and thought to himself. That sounded really familiar.

In fact, the whole story kind of did. He wondered if maybe it was just an older copy of one of many books he'd read as a kid and had just forgotten about as another silly adventure. That was probably the most reasonable explanation.

He felt a little guilty in retrospect. This Miaka, the Priestess of Suzaku, had wished to save the world, her friends, and for true love.

He'd just wished for sex, more sex, and to kill the man who'd just written him up.

Akira sat and wondered which one of the Suzaku Seven he'd like to be. They were all cool, in their own way. There was Tamahome, with his badass martial arts skills, dashing good looks, steadfast heart, and he gets the girl at the end. Hotohori, who ruled an empire and was beautiful, just like him, and Akira thought should have frankly gotten the girl because he was the rich and good-looking one. There was Nuriko, who Akira thought was fucking hilarious, but also strong and awesome. He wanted Chichiri's celestial magic and great sense of humor—not to mention having a good catch phrase to boot wouldn't hurt either. (It's cool.) Tasuki he'd just like to be in general. Leading a bunch of bandits, whipping out fire whenever he wanted, and being a rowdy drunk? Yes, please, I'd like that kind of life. Mitsukake, not so much, but he'd like to be able to heal a sick friend here and there. And he'd have liked Chiriko's smarts, though he knew well enough that being too smart was not a good thing.

But in all honesty, he'd see himself as Nakago before he'd see himself as any of the Suzaku Seven. Good-looking, vengeful, magical, and having power-up sex with a bitch that could control lightning? Sounded pretty good to him. He could do without the nasty relationship with the Emperor, but decided that if we were Nakago, he'd have blasted the son of a bitch the second he laid a hand on his young and delicate self.

Pfft. Nakago would have been a better hero than Tamahome. As far as he was concerned, the author screwed up the story at the end.

Akira reached out above his head and stretched to the ceiling. Steve curled up in his lap. Not a bad day, all in all. He'd set up a date with a girl he was really into and managed to read a good book in one sitting. All while managing to overcome one of the worst hangovers in recent history.

For once, he curled up into the sheets actually looking forward to the day to come next.

But Akira was in for some very, very fucked up dreams that night.


	5. Chapter 5: Who Are You?

Chapter Five: Who Are You?

Akira jolted up out of his sheets in a panic and grabbed his chest.

 _This is it. You've had one cigarette too many, kid._

He sat in the dark, breathing hard and clutching his comforters. Sweat dripped from his neck to his shoulders, and he could hear every thump of his heart. His eyes were open so wide he swore he was seeing lights in move in the dark.

After a little bit of time went by and his heart started to slow, he tried to remember what had happened and why he was feeling this way.

He wasn't hung over. It wasn't a sex dream. Would have been nice if it was.

Akira slapped his face and stumbled over to the bathroom. Steve had slept with him overnight and hadn't managed to wake him up yet. Maybe it was earlier than four in the morning. He didn't know.

He flipped on the light and stared at his panicked self in the mirror.

Something wasn't right. Something was different. He broke into a coughing fit and felt like an idiot for chain smoking the day before last, but that wasn't the problem either.

Akira tried to gain his composure and took a good, long hard look at himself in the mirror. His eyes went down to the tattoo. Was something different about the dragon?

That was ridiculous and he knew better. He leaned forward and pulled at his eyelids, checked his gums, and looked up his nose. He pulled his hair by the roots and found that while some of the white was starting to peek through, that wasn't it either.

He leaned forward to the mirror so close that his nose was almost touching its reflection and his breath fogged up the glass. It occurred to him that it had something to do with his eyes. They were the same golden color as always, but something about them seemed off, even to him, and he'd gazed at himself often enough to know what the hell he looked like. The irises couldn't seem to stand…still?

 _Just who the fuck am I?!_

 _'_ _My name is Lester Burnham. This is my neighborhood; this is my street; this is my life. I am 42 years old; in less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet, and in a way, I am dead already.'_

 _No. My name is Seiryu._

 _You are losing your shit, Akira. Your name is Akira Kawasaki. But you're not Japanese._

He lowered his head, shut his eyes, and gripped onto the vanity to keep steady. Sweat was rolling down his bare back and chest, and his heart was starting to beat fast again. It was starting to really hurt, and he considered maybe calling 9-1-1. Akira decided he was never in his life going to read a book beginning to end and then just drop to sleep so fast. That had to be it. He was just confusing fantasy and reality. He must have had some really fucked up adventure dream. Maybe he'd died in it.

Slowly he looked back up at his reflection and said to himself with resolve as he looked back into those gleaming yellow eyes, "Your name is _Akira_ , you dumb piece of shit. This is your street, this is your life. You're twenty-five years old, and you're still a long way from being a dead man." He paused, thought a bit, and continued. "You're going on a date today with the girl of your dreams, who even puts punctuation in text messages, and when you're done with that, you're going to _call that Reed character and finally going to figure out where the fuck you know him from."_

The last part he growled, despite himself.

It took him a while to get out of the bathroom and over to the kitchen to make his morning coffee. He checked his phone and realized it was only about four-thirty in the morning, which meant he'd slept only a few hours, if at all. He didn't feel rested, but decided that it was definitely not a good idea to try and get back to sleep.

A thought occurred to him and he typed a message into his phone. If it worked, great, if not, he just woke up an asshole who probably deserved it anyways.

AKIRA – Warframe?

To his surprise, about two minutes later, he got a reply.

MATT – SERIOUS YOU AWAKE? TOTES I AM KICKING AZZ HURRY GET ONLINE

Wow. He grinned. Matt was an even more hardcore nerd than he was. He grabbed a cup of coffee, his pack of cigarettes, turned on the X-Box, put on his headset, and sat down on the couch. Akira forgot all about his morning conversation in the mirror.

It was finally Akira's turn to rage quit Warframe, but it wasn't because of bad players—it was because of bad lag. It was now well into Sunday morning, and apparently nobody had anything better to do than be on the internet. His bandwidth was crap and he could barely move his character or change equipment.

"Matt, I'm logging off. I can't keep playing like this. I'm getting cock-blocked on everything I try to do."

"No prob, Fabio. It was a good raid while it lasted. Catch you at work tomorrow, unless maybe you're on again today."

"Probably not. I've got a date this afternoon."

There was a pause on his headset and Akira froze with what he just said. If there was anybody in the world who believed he was the Casanova he pretended to be, it was Matt.

"So, is that a big deal or something? I thought you were out on dates all the time."

Akira figured as much. He usually signed off from Warframe with Matt by saying, "Gotta go—there's a girl at the door I need to fuck real quick."

"No, man, not a big deal. That's not what I meant."

Why did Akira _do_ this to himself? He looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his chin while his mouth hung open in thought. What did it matter if he was actually fucking chicks or not? And on top of that, why would it even matter what Matt thought about it?

Akira shrugged to himself a benign answer. It just mattered. There was no reason why.

"So is she hot? Dish it out, Fabio."

Akira wondered if he could actually tell the truth to Matt, if only for once in his life. He grinned. What harm could it do?

"Hot as shit. Maybe the hottest I've ever done. I can't wait."

"Whoooooa. So big tits? Nice ass?"

What was he supposed to say? He'd only really seen the front out of the corner of his eye. "Really nice ass, I will say that for sure."

"Not enough, man. It's got to be going on in both the front _and_ the back. The front's probably more important than the back."

"True. I figure I'll find out tonight."

"Nice. So does she got a friend? You want to hook a brother up? I've been dying to ask. We'd probably be the hottest guys to ever double-date chicks at the same time." Matt was such a kid. It was one of the things Akira liked about him.

"She does have a friend, Matt, that's true."

"Seriously?! Is she hot." Matt's voice got real low and quiet. Akira could just picture him whispering into his headset. His mom was probably right there behind him. Matt still lived with his parents. He had to. The kid seriously blew all his work money on Adderall and coke.

Akira laughed at that one and found himself being a dick before he thought about it. "No, she was a dog. I was really worried she'd be the one calling me instead of Rosa."

"Whoa! So this one has a name, even! Sounds serious, you dog, you!"

Both of them were quiet for a minute. Akira because he'd just realized in horror he'd let her name split—Matt because he was possibly weighing the option of doing an ugly chick just for the sake of getting done at all. Akira decided it would probably be best that he not be the one to break the silence.

"So what's she like, this Rosa?"

Akira had no idea how to answer that one, and found himself a little offended. He tried to put some sort of answer together. He didn't even want Matt to know about Rosa in the first place, and now not only did he know about his date—he knew his date's name. "Who gives a _shit_ what she's _like_ , Matt. She's good for a fuck, just like everybody else. What she's _like_ doesn't matter. I'll let you know if I've got any sloppy seconds for you."

"You're such a dick. Doubt you're getting laid tonight. Later, Fabio."

Akira tore off his headset, threw it onto the floor, and then stared angrily at it as though the whole conversation was the technology's fault. Matt was right—Akira was a dick, and he'd just said a horrible thing about a girl he was going absolutely gaga over, who was actually probably a really nice girl. He never would say such a thing to her face. He'd never say such a thing to any woman's face, for that matter. Not even to Jennifer as a joke. You couldn't even _make_ a joke out of that one.

"Good god, what is _wrong_ with me? Mom, what would you think if you heard this shit coming out of my mouth? I swear that is _literally_ one of the worst things that ever came out of it."

He figured the one good thing about the way the conversation ended was that Matt wouldn't be asking about Rosa tomorrow, though Akira wondered if he'd actually dare to take him up on the 'sloppy seconds'. The whole thing was just…gross. He had to get this whole conversation out of his head before he met with Rosa today.

Akira was starting to think that maybe Julie was right about saying something to HR about his "sexual innuendo" with Jennifer. This shit was starting to go too far.

It was half-past noon, and he'd need to leave in an hour to get there on time, but he wanted to be a little early. It sounded corny even to him, but he wanted to see what Rosa'd look like when she walked into the coffee shop. He needed something more dignified for his first real look at this woman besides short-shorts standing in line…and then nearly falling over the counter to drop a twenty at the barista like a flailing moron. Though in all honesty—he didn't mind the memory of the short-shorts that much. Unlike Matt, he was more of an in-the-back than in-the-front kind of guy.

"Fuck twenty…this date already has me forty in the hole, and I don't even really know what she looks like." The whole time he'd been too embarrassed to really look at anything besides her ass, her eyes, and her hair. He definitely was keeping everything he'd seen so far in mind.

He glared at the shirts on the bed. Just like the problem he had earlier with the headset, it was now apparently these shirts' fault that he had no idea which one to wear, and so he was standing in the bedroom half-naked with an angry look on his face and his hands on his hips with Steve curling around his ankles. "Steve, just…jump on one of these shirts and help me pick it out."

Akira picked the cat up and snuggled the soft purrball beneath his chin.

This was NOT working.

He knew what to do. He'd call David and get his advice. David would probably be stoked and would be glad Akira was working on getting out of his 'Depression' anyways. But Akira knew Depression was no joke. Anything in the world that could kill Robin Williams and Chester Bennington was a clear and present danger. Robin Williams had been his favorite actor, besides Patrick Stewart. And maybe Ian MacKellan. Captain Picard and Professor X or Gandalf and Magneto? They were all too awesome for Akira to pick just one.

Just like the shirts. He couldn't decide on shit in his life.

If David wanted Akira to live his life so bad and get out of 'the movie and the game', then it was going to be David who was going to make the choices. There were no save points in the game of life. No system reset. _Jesus. I better not fuck it up with this girl, too._

When Akira called his friend, David had not just flipped out about it—he was over at Akira's house within fifteen minutes, which Akira thought may have been record timing. Now both of them were standing over the shirts, trying to decide what was best.

David pointed at the one on the right. "Seriously? You were really considering going to see Rosa in a Fallout 3 T-shirt? _Really?"_

Akira gave him a blank stare back and his tone became extremely fast and clear—nothing broke out Akira's inner nerd like Fallout 3. It was one of his absolute favorite games. "There is probably nothing on this Earth more awesome than Vault Boy. I figure if she sees me in that shirt, she's going to know _I'm_ awesome too. And she'd also probably think I'm cute and funny because Vault Boy is both, but little," Akira wagged his finger, "does she _know_ that Vault Boy is seriously about the most kickass little cartoon character ever developed by man and he will fuck your shit up with a nuke if you step out of line." He waved his hands in the air. "Like, BOOM, there goes Megaton, bitch. So she'd have to know I can fuck shit up too, like a tough guy in Vault Power Armor. Because Vault Boy means all that and _more_. You can totally see why I'm having a hard time deciding this."

Silence. David was dead silent, and Akira was getting uncomfortable. "You actually meant all of that."

Akira furrowed his eyebrows. "I absolutely sure-as-shit did."

"I'm not going to say anything about that other than that she probably has never played Fallout and wouldn't get the…uh…deeper meaning…behind…Vault Boy."

"If she plays Fallout I am dropping to one knee with my cup of coffee and we're getting married right there, right then. Right there at fucking Starbucks."

"That would be great, Akira, but it's…not a sure bet… _sooooo_ …let's put this one to the side and you can wear it later."

"But look!" Akira grabbed the shirt off the bed and showed it to David. "He's giving a thumbs-up! He's telling you everything is right with the world!"

"Maybe wear it when she gets to know you better and realizes just how much Vault Boy means to you."

Akira hoped that would be possibility. At some point she would probably ask about the little blue and blond dolls stuffed throughout his apartment. Vault Boy was a regular staple in Akira's life.

"Here, try this maroon one."

Akira slipped it on and let David look him over. David patted Akira's stomach. "This is not the right one at all. I mean, the jeans are good, but this shirt is making a tent over your pecs and making some sort of flap on your stomach. It looks like it's too small for you."

"Well, yeah, I've had it for like, ten years."

Silence again. "You've probably grown a foot since you bought this thing. Take it off. Throw that one in the garbage can."

"Bullshit. I'll take it off, but I'm not throwing it out. This is one of my comfiest shirts. I'll keep sleeping in it, at least." He pulled it off and bundled it in his hands with care.

"Akira. That shirt made you look fat."

It went right into the garbage can.

They stood out in the driveway and Akira was almost too nervous to get in the car. If it wasn't for David standing there, he wasn't sure if he could.

At least if David said he looked good, he believed it. Akira was good at judging his own looks when he was wearing a towel, but he was clueless when it came to what to wear beyond a bath towel. In truth, David had helped him pick out almost all of his work clothes. David didn't see so much of Akira in anything other than work clothes lately, and he really had no idea just how clueless his friend had become.

They'd settled on a tight black T-shirt, simple faded jeans, and a new pair of Black Nikes that Akira had forgotten under the bed for probably the whole time he'd lived at the apartment. Akira had nodded approval in the mirror. He looked good. He looked ripped. He looked badass.

But he felt none of it, and it was showing all over his face as he was waiting to pull out of the driveway.

"Alright, Akira," David slapped the hood of the car, "Have a good time and call me when it's over and dish the details. And get that terrified puppy look off your face. And don't pull that cocky stud shit, and also, don't pull the same nervous shit that you did with Joy or Rosa won't be asking you for a second date and we did this all for nothing."

"I'd feel a lot better in my Fallout shirt. For real."

"But you look much _sexier_ in this shirt, and _that's_ the look you should be going for. So…just go for it, Akira. Go have your crazy date."

"But…what…if I make an ass…?"

"You probably are going to make an ass of yourself because you're an ass by nature. Just don't make _too_ big of an ass of yourself. Try to handle yourself the way you did when you ran the honor society. That's you at your best. Imagine you're handling one of your biggest accounts."

Akira smiled back. "Alright. I'll catch you later."

He wasn't thinking of Rosa on the ride to the coffee shop—he was thinking of Joy. Why did David have to bring that one up? Since he met Rosa, he'd been trying not to think about _Joy_.

Joy was a friend of David's that dated Akira almost two years ago, and it hadn't ended well. It was Akira's longest relationship at two months, but had lasted mostly due to double-dates with David and Susie. Akira wasn't stupid. He knew she liked hanging out with them more than she did with him. He was her arm candy—her boy toy. She was at her happiest with her friends pawing and ahhing over him, and he knew that too. She wasn't in it for his mind—she was solely in it for the body and the bragging rights.

 _This fucking body that he in no way deserved._

The big problem was that she had wanted to get physical with him from the onset, and Akira was having none of it. Akira wasn't repulsed by her, but she didn't exactly light a fire under his ass, either. He'd have said she was average. She wore way too much makeup, too much perfume, and her clothes were very high-end, which put Akira off because he was always terrified of spilling something on her. She always tried to claw him with her nails, especially on his chest and his back, and he hated it. She left marks on him when she did it, and even made him bleed more than once. She also usually kissed him so hard and bit him with her with her bleached teeth so nastily that he'd come in to work with cuts on his lips the next day.

Akira was not going to tell David about the real, final reason they'd broken up, but of course Joy was friends with Susie, and Joy dished everything to Susie, who of course dished everything to David. In retrospect, Akira thought it would have been better just to tell David what happened himself, but that wasn't how it worked out. He was too embarrassed about it. He was _still_ too embarrassed about it. It was half the reason he constantly joked about sex instead of actually _having_ it.

They were in her apartment, and she'd gotten dressed all nice in her lingerie for him. Akira thought it was over the top and kind of a turn off, but she would have never believed that. He had finally managed to get all her clothes off, she had finally managed to get his all off, and that was it. It was going to be a done deal. But lying in bed and kissing her…Akira winced even now, in the present, on this ride. He could still feel those plastic nails on his back and sucked in the stifling scent of her expensive perfume.

Long story short, nothing had worked. They'd fooled around for about half an hour, and to her credit, she had tried everything. In truth, Akira admitted the blowjob wasn't that bad and he'd definitely do that part again. They'd done that much to one another more than a few times. But once that was over? It was a bust. She rubbed and scratched and kissed and moaned and he got about as excited over it as watching an episode of People's Court at three in the afternoon on a Sunday at his mother's house.

So he finally just pushed her off, got out of bed, and told her it was over. They clearly just weren't meant to be, and that was it. Or so he thought.

She started throwing things at him, and the names she called him on the way out and while he got dressed still stung. Faggot, homo, baby, infertile…she literally threw everything she could think of him in those few minutes. He remembered those minutes more than he remembered almost any other moment of his life.

Jumping into the water. Holding his grandparents' hands in the park. Graduating from College. Being the Best Man at David's wedding. Winning Lead Sales for Tiger Medical two years in a row…and getting a pair of high heels thrown at him by Joy while trying to pull his underwear on and being called a fucking faggot.

" _Who gives a shit what she's_ _like_ _, Matt. She's good for a fuck, just like everybody else. What she's_ _like_ _doesn't matter."_

He pulled over and put the car into park at the floral shop on the way. He stared at his hands on the wheel and the white knuckles that were shaking. There was no way in hell this was ever going to work.

And just like one of his favorite scenes in American Beauty, he tilted his head back, shook the wheel, and screamed at the top of his lungs so loud he thought his vocal cords were going to rip.

When he was done, he sighed in the silence of his thoughts, and looked to the glove box. He opened it up and pulled out a small wad of paper that still smelled a little like sweat. The numbers on it had gotten bleary.

 _If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son. I've got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one._

He dialed the number on the paper and waited as the phone rang. It clicked.

"Yo, it's yours truly. Who's this?"

"Reed?"

The GPS led him to a small, ranch-style house in an older part of town that was actually closer to his own apartment than it was to Starbucks and Tiger Medical. Akira pulled into the driveway, and big as life, there was Reed hanging lazily over the porch railing and waving one of those big tan hands at him. He was smoking a cigarette and carrying a beer, which Akira thought was great because he hadn't been able to stop chain smoking since he'd made the call. The wifebeater Reed was wearing was white and his tattoo was pink through it. Just like Akira, Reed could have been a model, but more like a Stetson or Marlboro Man kind of guy instead of the cute shit they tried to make Akira do as a teenager. Hell, Akira would buy smokes or cologne from this dude. If anything could have him feeling the way Reed looked right now—the picture of calm, collected, in charge, and even maybe sexy—he'd take it. It was everything he wasn't feeling right now himself.

"Yo! So you actually showed up. Miracles DO happen in this life, you know."

 _Yep, Reed. I am a living, breathing, motherfucking miracle._

It probably wasn't fair to come meet anybody in the horrible mood he was in, but Akira needed to kill time. He needed to at least kill enough time to call David back, maybe an hour or two. He'd decided he'd just call David on the way home and sound happy and make up some sort of story about how she was cute but it wouldn't work out. It didn't matter, really. David knew he was a fucking liar anyways. David always seemed to know everything. David was kind of tubby, not that handsome, but damn, was he smart.

"Yeah, they sure do," Akira mumbled as he locked up his car and came up the steps. Reed was lounging at the top, waiting for him with an outstretched beer.

Akira opened it up and stayed quiet, just looking at the top of the can at a loss for anything better to do. Why did he think it was a good idea to come over here in the first place?

"So that's the beer I promised you, but just to prove I'm not the asshole you seem to think I am, I'm willing to be cool with you and get you another one if you finish that one. Just depends on how long we end up chillin', I guess."

"Thanks." The beer was cold, and actually tasted damn good. It wasn't his usual Miller, but it was okay. He looked the can over. Icehouse. So Reed was also a lover of cheap-ass beer, just like Akira.

Reed nodded over at him. "An icy beer to go along with that fuck-you ice-cold attitude you wear like a huge-ass chip on your shoulder. I'd say that between the two of us, you're probably more of an asshole than I am. And that's saying something, because I really _am_ kind of an asshole."

He was probably right. Akira reached into his pocket and lit up a cigarette. But ice cold? Nobody had ever described him that way before. He'd always considered himself a rather warm and funny personality. Maybe not the most honest or welcoming, but certainly not 'fuck-you ice-cold'.

"Sorry, I guess I come off that way sometimes. So did you invite me over just to call me an asshole, hand me a beer, and send me on my merry way?" He blew his smoke at Reed, but Reed didn't seem to care.

"Nah, just fucking with ya, mostly. Come on up here, don't just stand on the steps looking dumb."

Looking dumb? Akira came to the top of the porch and noticed two small wicker chairs around a table that was probably a cylinder to hold wire at one point. This guy was definitely no Martha Stewart. He sat down, and so did Reed. Reed balanced his beer on the wobbly, make-shift table and stretched out on a chair that was about half as big as it needed to be. "So, who killed your dog?"

"I have a _cat,_ and he's _not_ dead."

"Hey, man, cats are fine. No judgment here." Reed raised his arms as if in defense.

"Why would you ask if someone killed him? That's kind of…sick."

Silence and the weird look people gave him when he said he wasn't Japanese. Akira was getting too much of that lately. "It's just a saying. I _meant_ , why do you look like somebody just ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped all over it? Is _that_ clear enough for you?"

Akira had no answer and didn't know what to say. What was he thinking coming here, again?

"Wow. You might be the most serious motherfucker I have ever met." Awkward silence again, followed up by, "You a cop or something?"

"What? I'm not a cop. I do Inside Sales."

"Well now, holy shit. I just learned the first thing about ya besides your name. I guess it's a start. But either way, I'm glad you said you're not a cop."

Reed reached back and pulled a glass bowl out from underneath the chair. He raised it to his lips, lit the flame, and then let out a huge puff of smoke.

Akira knew the smell. "Christ, is that weed?"

He hadn't smoked weed since college. Akira hadn't been high in at least five years.

"And damn good weed, you bet. Here. Have some."

"No, I can't, they might test where I work."

"So? They might do that where I work too."

Akira just had to know what a guy like this did to make a living. It'd been bothering him since they'd first met in the gym. "What do you do?"

Reed inhaled and then coughed up another cloud of smoke. "I split block, bro. Concrete. Build shit with my manly hands, you know?"

It sounded like the exact opposite of what Akira did. "Yep, I get it. Manly hands. Man of the earth. Man of the world. That's you." Unlike him, Reed had earned his body, just like Akira thought.

"Damn straight. Here. Take some of this. I saved it and you need it."

Was this guy actually thinking he was doing Akira a favor? Reed might be asking him to throw his job away!

"NO! Like I said, they might random test at work!"

"Like, pull you into dispatch and watch you on the pot, or give you two days notice and send you to the clinic with a nurse and a bathroom?"

"Um…nurse and a bathroom, I think. Why?"

"Just take it, then, you'll thank me later. I can get some clean piss for you if you get the testing summons at your job."

He shoved the pipe into Akira's hands and Akira just stared at it, numb and confused.

"What if one of your neighbors sees us or a cop drives by?"

Reed shrugged and went digging in his pants for a cigarette. "Who cares? Everybody knows me. They don't give a shit what I do. They know I don't cause trouble."

Well, he'd already fucked up his life a little bit today—why not fuck it up just a little more?

Akira pushed the pipe to his lips, ignited the lighter, and inhaled.

It was way too much. He started coughing all over the place and his eyes started to water. But already he was starting to feel light in the head like he remembered in the old days.

"Told you it was the good stuff. You should have believed me. I don't get the impression you do that too much. Believe in people."

Akira struggled to find his breath. "Stop acting like you know me."

Reed grinned. "Oh, I know you. I know you _real_ well. I just have no idea how I do."

"That is _seriously_ some of the creepiest shit I've ever heard. Are you stalking me?"

Reed waved him off. "Lord, no. Nothing like that. It's just I saw you, and it was like…hey, that's my brother standing over there with that chunky guy in the eighties getup."

Akira looked over at Reed while he choked down another hit of the pipe. He was going to have to take a break after this one. If he remembered correctly, if he did another hit or two, he'd be sitting in the chair giggling like a kid for the next two hours and they'd just end up doing something like binge watch South Park on Netflix the rest of the day. Which probably would have been OK.

Then he paused, considering what was just said. "Excuse me? Did you just say you thought I was your _brother_?"

Reed nodded. "Yep. I don't actually have one, I'm adopted, but I figure if I did have a brother, he'd be like you. You notice that you even kind of look like me, just colored different?"

Akira actually took great pride in life that he looked nothing like anyone he'd ever known or even seen before. His whole life, he'd been told just how exotic he was. It was why they'd wanted him to model. If he hadn't been such a putz, he could still be making a living doing it.

"Nobody looks like me."

"Whatever, man, I just figured that if you were willing enough to take a leap of faith and drive all the way over here and see me, that I'd at least be as honest with you about what I was thinking. You seem to think I'm fucking crazy anyways, so what's it matter to me? It just cost me a beer and some weed, and you a cigarette."

Akira tilted his head back on the chair and felt a little floaty and drowsy. Reed wasn't kidding. This was good stuff. "Thanks for the weed. I think I actually needed that."

They were both surprised when Akira's phone went off. Akira stared at the fuzzy screen. It was a text.

ROSA – Are you running late?

Akira looked at the clock. It was two-ten. He was supposed to meet her ten minutes ago. _Whatever._ He set the phone down on the table and closed his eyes, but he could feel Reed was looking at the device on the table.

"Who is Rosa?"

"Just some girl. Don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me you blew off a date to come see my pretty ass, because then I'm going to start calling _you_ the gay one."

"Don't worry about it. Leave the phone on the table. I said it's nothing."

Akira was too high to care. He couldn't believe he was ever screaming at the top of his lungs just a half hour ago. Hell, he could fall asleep right here, just like this. This was like heaven.

After a while, he looked over to his right and saw Reed playing with his phone. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Just saving you some trouble." Reed looked extremely focused on what he was doing.

Akira didn't know how he felt about that. He decided he didn't like it. He jerked the phone away from Reed and saw a bunch of new texts.

AKIRA – Hey, I'm really sorry, I can't make it.

ROSA – Oh no! What happened? Are you OK?

AKIRA – I've been helping my brother out fixing his house. His electrical went out.

ROSA –Did you want to meet another time?

AKIRA – Definitely. I'm really sorry.

ROSA—I'm just glad you're OK.

AKIRA – I'll make it u

And that's where it ended. Akira was totally confused by the words in front of him.

"Did YOU write this stuff to her just now? Is that what you were doing?"

"So? Like I said, I was just getting you out of trouble."

Akira groaned and set the phone back down on the table. "I cannot BELIEVE you just did that to me."

Silence again and Akira laid back in the chair. This was insane. He looked over to his right again. And Reed had his phone and was texting.

"What the fuck?!"

Akira grabbed the phone back and looked over at the screen.

AKIRA – I'll make it up to you, I promise.

ROSA—Thanks, that's sweet. Now you owe me dinner, and I don't owe you coffee.

AKIRA—Sure thing. It's a date.

Reed leaned over and grinned at Akira like a cheesy wolf. "So, when you are you taking this girl out to dinner?"

Akira was shocked more than anything. He had no idea how he felt. He was shocked that this guy had the gall to take _his_ phone, text _his_ girl, and set up a _date_? And what was even weirder was that when he read this stuff, it sounded exactly like something he'd have said himself. It was like Reed really _did_ know him, and it was freaking him out.

"You shouldn't have done that. I was trying to let her down nicely."

"Sure, I'll believe that one when hell freezes over." Reed got up and walked over to a small red and white Coleman cooler Akira noticed on the corner of the porch. He popped it open and took a sip of a new beer. "When you came over here you looked ready to cry, so I'm doubting you blew her off because you didn't like her."

"Don't act like you know me."

Reed shrugged his shoulders in defense. "Alright, alright. So maybe I don't know you. But I know women, and this one seems nice. So why don't you tell your new big brother why you stood her up and made yourself into one-stop-short of a crying-pussy-bundle?"

What could he say? It wasn't like he could tell Reed the truth.

"I'm into someone else. I was feeling bad about telling her about it. So I showed up here instead of there."

Reed nodded and sat back down in the tiny chair. "So, is she hot?"

Akira snapped up. "What?! Why?!"

"Well, if you're not going after that, I figure if she's good-looking, I'll give her a go. I mean, I figure, if she dug you, she's gonna have to dig me. I'm the hotter one of the two of us, after all."

Please. Spare it. Akira knew those own lines came out of his own mouth way too often. "She's actually kind of ugly, so seriously, do yourself a favor and let it go."

Reed shrugged and pulled out his own phone. He started looking over at Akira's phone and typing stuff onto his own screen.

"What are you doing, taking her number down?! I just told you she's ugly!"

"Yeah, but you hurt her feelings. I haven't done a nice girl with a bleeding and innocent heart in at least a few weeks now. Not usually my type, but whatever."

So he wasn't kidding about the tail thing. Where Akira had been living his life as a lie the last few years, this Reed was the real deal. And he was about to real deal it all the way over to Rosa's tail.

"Just back the fuck off on this one, let it go. I mean it."

Reed started rubbing his forehead in irritation, but he did in fact put the phone down on the table. "Alright, I got it, I'll back off. But now I _really_ don't believe you that this girl is ugly and you don't like her, so why don't you just be straight with me about it? What's such a big deal that you have to hide it from a stranger like me? What do you care what I think, anyways? Like you said, you don't know me. You don't owe me shit."

Akira closed his eyes, leaned his head back on the chair, and considered it. Maybe he was higher than he thought.

"I'm…terrible with women, and I didn't want to mess this one up too."

Reed was quiet, and Akira could feel himself being looked at. He didn't want to see Reed's face. He didn't want his shock, or his pity, or his confusion. He'd finally told the truth, but Akira didn't really want to face that truth.

"I don't know, from your conversation on your phone, you both seem pretty nice and she seems to really like you, so I don't really get what a big chunk of hot sex like you is afraid of. _Not_ really buying your story, bro."

"It's the truth."

'Listen, if you're gay and that's the reason, you showed up here instead of there with her because—"

Akira lunged forward out of his chair and grabbed Reed up out of his. He slammed the surprised redhead against the chipping aluminum sided-wall and pinned him there.

"Listen, Reed! I'm a fucking virgin and I am totally into this girl and I have no fucking clue what to do about it and I fucking chickened out and came over here instead!" He shoved Reed off and backed away from him, and realized he was panting. " _That's_ why I'm here instead of there! _Alright_?!"

Reed was staring at him, just blinking, and he looked like everything Akira was fearing he'd see. There was the shock, the pity, AND the confusion, all rolled into one. He'd basically just shouted his worst fears and secrets into this complete stranger's face.

"I…did not see that one coming."

Reed peeled himself off the siding and Akira realized that he might have actually hurt Reed. Reed reached towards his back, and his fingertips came off with a bit of blood. He turned and looked at the wall. A small, rusty nail was sticking out of it.

"Oh, piss on it all."

Reed grumbled and did what was probably the hottest thing Akira had ever seen anyone do in one motion in his entire life, man or woman, or even ever. Reed reached behind his back and pulled the shirt up and over his shoulders. His entire stomach and chest contracted and released, and when he was done, he just sort of stared at the shirt, not even realizing the effect he was having on Akira.

This dude was the real thing. The real fucking Fabio. Akira was just a stupid fake. He wanted to cover his own torso in disgust, which was a strange feeling. He hadn't felt that way about himself since grade school (and somewhat into high school) and he'd stayed tall and skinny while some of the other guys had started filling out. He felt completely ashamed that he'd been flexing his own stomach back at himself in the mirror for something like a decade now, and never had he considered himself anywhere near that level.

Reed was still oblivious. He turned his back to Akira and pointed down at his shoulder.

"Is it bad?"

Akira's breath caught in his chest. No fucking way.

It was the fucking bird from the book, Suzaku. Suzaku all over Reed's back. Suzaku—the antithesis and enemy of Seiryu.

"Where'd you get the tattoo?!"

Reed frowned. "Who gives a fuck about my tatt right now?! Am I just scratched up back there or do I need to go back into the house and get some peroxide? I'm serious about this shit, I feel like there's something running down my back!"

Akira couldn't help. The world was black, it was white, and it was that red bird on Reed's back. He was frozen, and there was nothing he could do.

"Christ almighty, you fucking _idiot_!" Reed cursed and rushed into his house, gripping his shoulder.

Akira stayed there, numb, before reaching down to the fabric of his own shirt against his stomach. Seiryu.

He looked to the doorway that was hanging half-open now. And Suzaku.

Was any of this shit for real?

This was all too much. Akira grabbed his phone off the table. He ran down the steps, flung himself into the car, peeled out of the driveway, and flew down the road, leaving flying gravel and dust in his wake. His fingers were gripping the wheel harder than they had been when he was screaming in the same place just an hour ago.

Tomorrow he was going to be back at work; working hard, no more joking. There would be no more thoughts of Seiryu, Suzaku, Reed, or Rosa. He'd be getting the tattoo removed next week. He was done with this shit.

 _Yeah, Akira Kawasaki, you lost your shit._

He flicked the radio on and just let it run to whatever station he had on last. Classic rock. It was The Who.

 _Who are you?_ _Who, who, who, who?_


	6. Chapter 6: Fanboys

Chapter Six: Fanboys

Akira approached Reed quickly in the maelstrom, and rain was pouring all around them, carving small potholes into the beach. Waves were crashing into the shore, and Reed was half covered in the water, crawling backwards on his shoulder with blood gushing from his nose and mouth. He was wearing some sort of armor that was sporting ragged holes and cracks throughout. Furious red eyes burned at Akira through matted crimson hair stuck to his forehead and cheekbones. The fires blazing to their West painted Reed's face in orange and crimson. This was some kind of war zone.

Reed was shouting through the blood something at Akira—something terrible, from the look on his face. But Akira heard no words. Rain splattered Reed's face and blood splattered from his lips.

Akira's white, soaked hair hung in front of his face as his own blood-soaked hand reached out to grab Reed around the neck. As he reached, Reed lunged his arm forward and Akira felt a ripping pressure in his chest. If Reed had just knifed him—if that's what had just happened—Akira never saw the blade.

He ignored it and increased the pressure on Reed's throat, lifting him slightly up off the ground and stretching out his other hand around Reed's neck.

They were screaming unheard at one another, and Akira increased the pressure in his arms. The skin was slick and hot and he could feel Reed's rapid pulse through his fingers. He squeezed as tight as he could until he started to feel the windpipe and tendons start to snap under his grip.

The alarm went off.

Akira opened his eyes and stared into his blankets. It wasn't real. None of it was. The alarm was the only real thing.

 _I think I'm starting to get some serious rage issues._

He wasn't tired and didn't feel hung over, despite downing half a case of beer again the night before, in the dark, alone. Akira sat up in bed and stared at his clean hands. They were shaking, as though still exhausted from the exertion of strangling Reed. _Not just strangling, but murdering._ What he was doing was murder, and Akira felt confusion and guilt over it.

As the night had gone on and he'd sat in silence on his couch, he realized he'd had no reason to hate Reed or even jump ship like he had. Reed hadn't done anything to him other than set up a date that Akira was truly mad he'd blown, and he'd done it well. The only thing Akira had against Reed was that Reed was now a bearer of Akira's truth, which made him dangerous. He decided he'd probably contact Reed again, if only to apologize and make sure his shoulder was alright, but that he would definitely never tell any of his other friends anything about his red friend. Reed forced truth from Akira despite himself, and that made him a problem.

Unless Rosa asked about his "brother", of course. Akira really didn't like that Reed had made himself into Akira's excuse. Now he had to make up some sort of story for her, and even though he hadn't even spent five minutes with the girl, the tiny relationship they already had was built on lies. Just like everything else in Akira's life.

He lit up a cigarette and turned off his phone alarm. Well, what did it matter if it were lies? Was he ever going to tell her the truth about himself? _No way._ He'd do what David told him to do. He'd treat her like his best client. He'd tell her what she looked like she wanted to hear, make himself out to be something close to Jesus, and then find some reason to tell her it was over. He'd been there before.

Still, though, he didn't want to ruin the chance to impress someone who looked to him like Angie Everhart, who was one of his first crushes, and maybe his most intense. If Google had existed at the time, he'd have spent a day going through her images. When he saw Angie in a terrible vampire movie as a kid (staying up in the living room way past bedtime when his parents had already gone to sleep), he'd watched the whole thing through, totally in rapture, just to remember every clip of her—her face, her hair, and Jesus, that _body_.

Akira grinned to himself as he glanced at his phone and thought about his upcoming shower.

His face dropped when he realized David had texted him the night before, asking how everything had gone. Akira lied and texted back that it went okay, and that they were going on another date and taking it slow.

Lies, lies, and more lies. It was how he rolled. David probably knew better anyways.

Work was a disaster when Akira came back, since he'd slacked off the latter half of Friday and needed to make up for the wasted time. He was already getting emails along the line of _are you there_ and _did you get what I sent_.

He couldn't work fast enough to keep up with his usual demand and was mad at himself for being such a fool. Akira was the man who got shit done—got it done right, got it done fast, and got it done in style. His reputation was at stake. Akira was quiet, and his co-workers noticed.

"If your keyboard wasn't clicking like SOS to holy heaven, I wouldn't even know you were here today, man," Matt mentioned as he came up and stood behind Akira. Matt was right—Akira hadn't even gotten to his phone messages yet, and wasn't picking up the phone this morning, either. He figured everyone else could take the calls until he caught up some.

"I'm pretty busy," Akira mumbled back, not taking his eyes off the screen and the words steaming across it.

"Jeff must have really kicked the shit out of you on Friday, huh?"

Akira frowned, remembering the lecture. He hadn't even put on music this morning, mostly because he couldn't figure out what to play, but also because he wasn't in a rush for another write-up. "Jeff gave it to me pretty good, yeah, but at least Taka's back today and I don't have to worry about his crap."

He felt a slight pull on his hair, which he'd left down for the day, because he'd forgotten to tie it back. He'd spent too much time in the shower and ended up with only fifteen minutes to get his coffee, feed Steve, get dressed, and rip out the door early enough to avoid the freight train if it hit. Which, of course, because he was running early-it didn't.

"Man, are you going grey already? These are some serious roots you've got going on here."

Akira spun around in his chair and pushed Matt away from him. "The fuck, Matt! Don't you have work to do, or something?!"

"Sure, of course, I actually just wanted to see how it went with," he leaned down and whispered inches away from Akira's face while grinning madly, " _Rosa_."

Akira narrowed his eyes at him and wrinkled his nose. He whispered back, looking over at Jennifer, who didn't seem interested in their conversation. "It went _fine_. Now sit your ass back in your chair and do some fucking work for once."

"So? The front? Tell me about it. I've been totally thinking about it. I decided I'm cool with sloppy seconds."

"You need to get a life, go find your own 'front'." Akira swung back to his computer.

His eye twitched when he saw Taka's name come up on his line, and he deliberated against even picking up at all. _Gonna fuck up again so I can get written up for your mistakes again? Did Jeff have more shit you needed to lay on me?_

He couldn't even feign politeness as he picked up the phone. "Yeah."

"Akira? It's Taka. Could you come back here a minute?" Akira gritted his teeth. Apparently Taka didn't ever just look at his own caller ID; he didn't seem to think anyone else did, either. Like Akira didn't know who he was.

"For what?"

"About that order from Thursday. I wanted to talk to you about it."

"Sure thing."

 _I am going to scream in your fucking face._ Akira slammed the receiver down on his desk.

Akira didn't lean back in the chair across from Taka this time. Instead he sat down somewhat gingerly, clasping his hands in front of himself. Another lecture was coming—one he'd already gotten on Friday, but this was how management worked. Never giving thanks, but beating your mistakes into you until you were raw and never made them again. Next stop—the unemployment line.

"So what about the order," Akira asked.

Taka reached over to the side of his desk and pulled out some paperwork. "Jeff told me he talked to you about the Schnider order on Friday."

"Among other things, yeah."

"Well, I called you in here to apologize."

Akira raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Taka shook his head and sighed, blowing wisps of black hair away from his forehead. "When he told me what happened, I was surprised. It didn't sound like a mistake I'd have made, and for all your faults, it didn't sound like something you would have done, either."

"Sure, I get that. It was weird, but I figured it out." _Thanks for the backhanded compliment, you fucking jag-off. For all my faults? Really?_

"I understand it went out on time, and that everything was correct in the end. So I looked into it this morning. I looked at what I'd sent you, and I realized I had given it to you wrong in the first place. I pulled up the pricing for the wrong system. I really don't know what I was thinking."

"Sure, shit happens." _Watch the foul language, Akira._

Too late now.

Taka shook his head and rested it on his hands. It occurred to Akira that he'd never seen Taka look so…human. So fallible. Maybe Miaka being in the hospital had really taken its toll on the guy, and Akira found himself feeling bad for his boss.

"It's no excuse, really. I shouldn't have been in such a rush to leave. I didn't really take Miaka to dinner at all that day. She'd been feeling ill that morning and I wanted to stay home and take care of her, but I knew management wouldn't want to hear that, especially when I was waiting for that order. I wish I'd have stayed home. I wasn't in the right mind to work. Some things are more important than work."

"Yeah, I know you love her, Taka, it's okay," Akira found himself comforting. "I didn't tell Jeff that it was you who messed it up. You're good. I had your back."

Taka opened his eyes and smiled at Akira. "Actually, that was what I called you in here for—to apologize to you. I told Jeff what happened, and I'm having HR reverse the write-up. Not only did you fix the problem, you didn't even tell Jeff that it was actually my fault, which you could have. To let you suffer a hit for being honorable would have been beneath me, and I'm not about to be that kind of manager. How can I build the trust of my employees when I let them take the blame for my faults?"

Akira grinned and leaned forward. "That's ace. Thanks, man."

Taka laughed a little, and it occurred to Akira he never really heard the man laugh before, even if this was just a small one. "Well, you're welcome. Anyways, that's all I called you in for. You'd better get back to your desk. Two of your reps have already called me this morning, asking if you were actually in the office. You really need to start setting up an away message when you're out."

"No problem. Thanks for the thanks." Akira got up from the chair, but paused before leaving the office. "Hey, you know, I just got done reading a book with a guy that kind of reminds me of you in it. It's some sort of oriental story, so maybe you've read it. The heroine is even named Miaka."

Taka had already started to get back to working on his own computer, but stopped when Akira had continued talking to him. "Oh, really? Maybe I have. I'll have to check it out if I haven't read it already. I know you love books, so you probably have good taste. What's it called?"

"The Universe of the Four Gods."

Taka's face went blank and his hands splayed out over the keyboard. He jolted out of his chair, almost knocking it backwards. "What?!"

Akira frowned at him. He was expecting a pat on the back, or even some minor interest. Not this guy spewing his figurative pop all over himself.

" _What_ what? So you've heard of it? Is it some kind of…bad book or something?"

"The Universe of the Four Gods?! Where did you find it?!"

 _Jesus, what a fruitcake._ Akira was sorry he ever brought the stupid book up. "In the library, why? Am I missing something, here?"

"Where is the book now?!" Taka looked angry, though still shocked.

"Um…at my apartment. Why? You…need to read it, or something? Is it rare? It did look kind of old."

"How much did you read?! What did it say?!"

Akira scratched his head. "I read the whole thing. It was an okay story. A little lame, but it had some cool characters. Nakago was pretty cool."

"Nakago was not _cool_ ," Taka growled. "He was a monster."

Akira stared back at his boss, utterly confused by the whole discussion. Apparently Taka was a major fanboy of the novel, from his Nakago reaction, and this conversation was clearly going downhill fast. Akira'd never imagined Taka as a fanboy of anything. It made him respect the unknown author for getting such an intense reaction out of his boss. He wished he could write something that made people so passionate, dislike for a character or not.

"True, he _was_ kind of a jerk. It's cool, though. Tasuki, the bandit, was my favorite, really. I was glad he didn't die at the end."

"And you said I reminded you of someone in the book? Who?"

 _Well, this was where things could get really offensive_ , Akira thought. _I already told him he reminded me of somebody in the book, and if I say the wrong character, Taka could get really offended, and then poof—there goes this job._

"Tamahome, of course. I mean, he marries the girl with your wife's name after all and is the hero of the story, right? Shouldn't you be glad?"

Taka closed his eyes and sat back down in his chair. Akira was glad he seemed to have made the right choice in character selection and words. "Bring that book in with you tomorrow, please."

"Um…really? I mean, it's not my book. I got it at the library."

"Just bring the damn book tomorrow, Akira. That's the end of it."

"Sure…thing, boss. Sure thing."

Akira left the office, shutting the door quietly behind him. He'd never thought that Taka was apparently fucking nuts, but there you had it. _Well, good._ At least somebody in the office was crazier than he was. _What a hardcore fanboy._

He didn't tell anybody about the odd book discussion with Taka when he got back to his desk, nor did he bring up the fact that his write-up was reversed. If Taka wanted to earn the thanks of his people, he could do it himself. Akira had done enough for him.

He noticed a text come through on his cell.

ROSA – What time are you off tonight? Want to meet me at Olive Garden?

Akira rubbed his nose and snuck his phone into his lap. Personal calls and messages were discouraged at work—he even had to sign an "internet clause" when hired that he wouldn't be wasting his work time watching Youtube and catching up on Facebook while on shift. But, after his discussion with Taka, he felt his boss had put him in enough good graces with Jeff that he could mess around a little bit. After all, he did have a vested interest in getting back to this girl, and like Taka had just said, some things were more important than work.

But was tonight really a good idea? Was he wearing the right clothes? Did he even have enough money in his wallet to pay for a dinner for two at that pricey place? His roots were coming through, and maybe she'd take him for an older guy. It was probably better to make another excuse and be more prepared later. But then, would he ever be prepared? He was just prolonging the inevitable anyways, though he did have to respect her tenacity. It seemed rude to continue blowing her off.

 _And also, Angie Everhart look-alike._ That was something. _Take a leap of faith, brother._

AKIRA – Four-thirty. I could go for tonight. What time are you off?

ROSA – Five. I'll meet you there after work?

Akira considered the response, letting his finger hang over the phone screen for a minute, still not sure if what he was doing was a good idea. Reed wasn't there to pull out any suave lines for him this time, and David wasn't there to make sure he wasn't being an ass or even wearing the right clothes.

AKIRA – Sure. I'll get us a table. See you after five.

He placed the phone gingerly on his desk, looking over his shoulder to see if Matt or Jennifer had caught him sneaking texts at work. They hadn't—Mondays were always the busiest and they were just as overworked as he was. Akira rubbed his lips with his fingers, thinking. _Well, that's it. You're all in now—can't pull over and scream in the car again like a baby and have Reed take care of your booboo. Don't fuck this up._

He felt like a giant at the restaurant, because the hostess had to be a whole four feet tall, or maybe it was just that the booths were low. He'd grabbed two-hundred bucks from the ATM on the way over, because it would probably be best to just down drinks while she talked…about whatever the heck she was going to talk about and he would do his best to try to look like he understood while she did. Akira had no idea what kind of liquor Olive Garden offered, but he figured he would find something on the menu and whatever he found, it would probably cost him about ten bucks a pop. He was thinking he'd maybe have ten of whatever he could find (or maybe five, if this ended up being awkward and they needed to scatter like rats after hating one another's company over the food) and that would mean a hundred bucks, plus whatever she ordered and tip and taxes. Better to be prepared. He figured he'd saved money by not staying at Adams on Friday, and if he was late on rent, so what? Like they were going to kick him out a whole two months before his lease was up.

Akira glanced over the menu while the hostess waited, and was stoked to find they actually had a lot of drinks, and they were closer to six dollars a pop than ten. He ordered a Sangria because he decided it looked like the most bang for the buck, and if Rosa showed up and decided he was an alcoholic sitting there with his fist-sized drink, all good. She was more than welcome to cut him off and leave.

When the waitress came back with his drink, Akira sipped it and felt pretty good. He wasn't stressing at all. _Why_ was he so stressed yesterday? This was just another wrinkle in time—just another spoke on the wheel. Just another client to charm—just another sale to make. Nothing to get so worked up about. If nothing else, he'd be getting some hearty Italian food and massive drinks out of it, sucked that he'd need to pass out the ass for it, though. He swirled the Sangria around in the glass, getting bored.

"Akira?"

"Yep, that's me," he replied, not looking up from the cup right away. It sure was bubbly.

Rosa slid into the booth across from him and placed her purse at her side. She smiled while she did it, and Akira realized it was the first time he'd really gotten a good look at her face. He'd seen her for maybe a second or two at Starbucks before he lost his cool and started flinging twenties and 'It's cool' around like a dipshit.

His lips stopped on the straw and he stared at her across the table, dumbstruck. Her hair was flowing around her shoulders and her emerald-colored eyes reflected soft in the dim atmosphere. She looked younger than his precious Angie, but he figured Playboy would probably have paid this girl just as much to pose in the nude as they paid his Angie. In her strapless green shirt, it occurred to him that this girl definitely had it going on in the front as well in the back. Matt would definitely be a happy guy.

She said something—he was not listening. His showers would never be the same again.

Before he could try to figure out what she said, the waitress was there to take her drink order. She graciously gave it to the waitress—just some kind of fancy coffee, go figure—but he only remotely heard that too. He couldn't stop staring.

 _Is this how it is for other people when they look at me? Is this the effect_ _I_ _have on people?_

If nothing else came out of this date, at least he finally gained some basic understanding of why some women (and men) couldn't find words when talking to him. At least he could maybe someday write about love at first sight and have some idea of what it actually meant. Because if this wasn't it, he wasn't sure _what_ he was up against. It made him feel bad for all the brushing off he'd done the last decade.

 _Payback is a bitch. Pride commeth before the fall._

"So, how is your brother? Did you get his house all fixed up," she asked, leaning over the table at him.

 _Yep, going on in the front. I don't have a brother. Reed is dumb._

"Are you okay?"

Akira coughed on the Sangria and wiped his mouth. He needed to start saying words, at some point. _Just don't say it's cool._ "Yeah, yep. He's good. All taken care of. All good."

"Well, that's nice. I was starting to get kind of worried, to be honest. I was starting to think you didn't actually _want_ to go out with me, and since I wasn't sure if it was me or Sarah you were interested in when you gave us your number, I just wasn't sure—I was kind of nervous."

"Nope, just had stuff doing on." He stared back down at the crimson drink in front of him and felt his ears and cheeks turning the same color. It was a good thing he hadn't put his hair up today and could hide behind it. He resisted the urge to pull it in front of his cheeks, but figured at least it was good she wasn't seeing the ears. Like a girl who looked like this would ever get _nervous._

 _If I looked like that, I'd live life like it was a fucking catwalk._

He considered his words to himself and couldn't miss the irony. He _did_ kind of strut around.

"She was actually pretty pissed at me," she laughed, beginning to flip through the oversized, plastic menu. "Sarah made it clear in no uncertain terms that the number you gave us was meant for _her_. But I told her that since you'd given it to _me_ , you meant it for me, and she had to back down on this one. I mean," she started to fumble over _her_ words now, "It's not every day you run into somebody that looks like…well, I'm sure you know how you look. You probably hear it a lot."

 _I look like a fucking beet right now, lady._

"I guess that sounded pretty silly," she added, flipping through the pages.

 _Am I supposed to say something back? I think that's what she's getting at. Think of something. Something smart. You're a smart guy._

"No, you were right, I wasn't interested in her."

They sat in awkward silence until the waitress came back to get their orders, and while Rosa had put a good amount of thought into hers, Akira basically opened his menu once the waitress had gotten there and did a version of pick-whatever-your-finger-lands-on.

It occurred to him that Rosa either had a lot of blush on, or maybe was she having the same problem he was? This was weird. This probably wasn't going to end well. This car was moving forward and there was no one behind the steering wheel.

"So…where do you work," she finally asked, twirling some of that red hair around in her fingers.

"Tiger Medical, I do Inside Sales. For medical equipment. For surgeries. For doctors."

 _Yep, because it's usually doctors who do surgeries using_ _medical equipment_ _, you dumb_ _fuck_ _._

"Sounds complicated! You must be a smart guy, though you don't say very much."

 _Actually, I'm told I never know when to shut the fuck up._

"It's not that hard."

More silence. It was taking everything he had not to rub his face in his hands and look just as frustrated as he _was_. She was right. He wasn't saying much and didn't know what to say. But, the drink was gone. He motioned to one of the waiters. "Can I have another one of these Sangria things?"

Rosa giggled and sat on her hands. "Akira, those are pretty big drinks. You'll be drunk before we even get the food. Am I going to have to walk you out of here when we're done?"

 _Lady,_ _yes_ _. Walk me over to your house, and then your bed. I'll make you breakfast in the morning._

This time he did put his face in his hands—it couldn't be helped. "No, it's cool, I can handle my liquor." Again. _It's cool._ Akira peeled his fingers from his face and held the glass out to her. "It's just this stuff tastes good, and it was cheaper than I thought it would be, so I figure why not?"

"So drink till you drop because it's cheap?"

"Well…no, I didn't mean it that way…I mean, it tastes good, I mean," he sputtered, feeling the heat turn up in his cheeks again. "Liquid courage, I guess." _Save face. Own up._ "I mean, _I'm_ pretty nervous, to be honest." _There. Well done. Show that softer side. The girls like that._

"Nervous? About what? It's just _me_."

"Sure, you can play that card. I find it kind of hard to believe you're not used to guys just kind of becoming fucking morons over you when you're around. I mean, I'm sure you know what _you_ look like."

Rosa frowned and looked down at the table. _That was not the right thing to say._ The truth was apparently not what she was interested in—time to turn up those lies and spin them good. Akira fumbled over his words like a football player balancing a dancing ball right at the touchdown line. "I mean…no, well, I didn't mean it like that. What I meant to say…is that you're just really…well…pretty? You probably hear that a lot. I figure. I figure that's what people would say."

She smiled. He'd made the right choice. Score one for the good guys. "Well, I guess we could both just stop talking about how 'pretty' we both think we are and just admit that we'd be a cute couple."

"Sure, I guess you could put it that way. We'd look alright."

"I honestly thought you were a model when we saw you the other day, because with the hair and your build and everything…well, you don't see many guys walking around with hair like that. Unless they're hipsters, but you don't really look like a hipster." She motioned to the top of her head. "Though you might want to do something about those roots of yours. Why not just keep the blond hair? What's so bad about blond?"

"It's not blond."

She leaned over and pored over the top of his head. "So what is it, then? Don't tell me it's gray. You don't look old enough to be gray."

"I'm twenty-five."

"Me too!"

"So…why are you single, if you don't mind me asking? You seem nice and you already know you're a knockout that any guy would be happy to bring home."

She blushed and smiled. "Thanks, that's nice. And no real reason. I'm pretty picky and I'm not really willing to give it up for a guy unless I think he's really special. Different, you know? Somebody who can make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Somebody I can trust and have fun with and laugh with, and of course, who makes my knees buckle when he walks into the room."

 _Sounds like a real Prince Charming. Good luck finding that one. No wonder you're single._

Thankfully the waitress brought their food at this point and Akira could just dig into his meal with an excuse to not speak. Rosa did the same thing and he found himself dreading what they'd talk about after the food was done. This could have been going worse, but it definitely didn't seem to be going good, either. What could he talk about with her? What was there to say? _Hey, did you go see Thor this weekend? What about that new battle gear set on Warframe? What can I make you for breakfast?_ Reed would know just what to say, of course, and it was pissing Akira off. He probably would have gone for the breakfast line, and she probably would've said sure.

Akira shoved another ravioli into his mouth, and then took a larger sip of Sangria than he probably should have. This one was almost gone, too. Maybe she _would_ be walking him out, after all, though he sincerely doubted it would end up with breakfast. Considering how well conversation was going, he could just imagine the outcome of a passionate night in the sack. Especially with his track record.

That thought dampened future shower possibilities.

Rosa finally spoke up after clearing most of her plate. Of course, it was some kind of salad, which made sense because nobody got a body like that downing carbs and cheese and steak, like Akira was doing. Only _he_ was immune to the toils of fatty foods.

"So you sound really devoted to your parents and your brother. What're they like?"

"My parents are Japanese and are hardcore strict and boring. My brother…is really boring too. And dumb. Just fucking stupid, really. That's why I have to help him out with everything."

"Oh, so that's where you get the name from. How come you don't look Japanese? If you don't mind me asking."

"No, it's no problem. I'm not. I'm adopted. That's why people think I'm weird when I tell them my name."

"Is your brother adopted too?"

"Yeah, Reed's adopted too."

"Akira and Reed, huh? Well, those are some pretty different names."

Reed. Lord, _why_ did he just tell her his name? He didn't even want her spitting that word out of her mouth. _Reed_ , who was going to call her up and steal _his_ date. If he had, would it have been this awkward? Probably not, Akira figured. He'd probably wine her and dine her with that lazy, sure grin, just brimming with the promise of passion, tell her how he worked with his sexy man hands for a living, and how those sexy man hands would work her too. She'd walk him out, not drunk (though maybe drunk, Reed _did_ like to drink, after all) they'd crash at her place, and he'd give her the night of her life that she could talk about with her friends for the rest of her living days. Follow up with two kids, a dog, a white picket fence, and a big, brick mansion he'd built for her all by himself with his big, motherfucking, Marlboro-man, motherfucking sexy man mortherfucking hands. _Built by yours truly,_ _bro_.

Akira stabbed another ravioli. Hard.

"Can I get another Sangria?"

When she said she didn't want desert, Akira was relieved. The waitress handed him the bill and he paid for it in cash, glad he didn't have to wait the extra time it would have took to run a credit card. He'd had enough—it was over, he made it, he fumbled through it, and it was time to bolt. Just like he'd thought, it was a complete fuck-up on a list of unending fuck-ups and Rosa could give his number over to Sarah and tell her it wasn't worth her time—here, have the number, this guy sucks.

Somehow, admitting to himself how much he sucked brought back some of the confidence he was lacking, and his words came back to him as well. He was back in familiar territory, and now that this Playboy bunny look-alike would put him down in her little black book of guys to fuck over for a free meal, he found himself not really caring what she thought. It was a better place to be. Caring was for pussies. He was not a Care Bear. He was more like Vault Boy.

"Well, I hope you had a good dinner. You got your coffee's worth out of me. You can go ahead and tell Sarah what a fucking riot I am and how lucky she was that you dialed my damn number instead of her." He started to get up to leave.

"Are you mad?" She looked totally confused, and more than a little upset. Her green eyes looked up at him, almost pleading, like a fawn about to be shot by a hunter.

"Honey, I'm not mad. I'm just old and tired and completely over this little dating game bullshit we've been dancing around for the last hour. I mean, did we really have anything in common anyways besides thinking it'd be a great idea to hit the sack and fuck each other's brains out after a fake-ass Italian dinner and a fucking coffee? _Really?_ I mean, come on. What did you think, texting me? That I'd be a nice boy you could bring home to mommy and daddy? That I could sit down and giggle with you and your little girlfriends at Starbucks on Thursday afternoons? That we'd just be the cutest couple on Facebook _ever_ and you'd be the envy of every girl on the block? Please. I know that game. You texted me because you thought you could get this dumb asshole to piss away another forty bucks on you because you've got some nice T-and-A going on. Just like a fucking _slut_. What, did you expect me to be your sugar daddy, or something? Did my blazing white _roots_ make you think that I was old enough that I had some gold you could dig for?"

 _Who gives a shit what she's_ _like_ _, Matt. She's good for a fuck, just like everybody else. What she's_ _like_ _doesn't matter._

She lowered her head and her eyes started tearing up. This girl was about to spill the waterworks all over Olive Garden, and Akira didn't really give a shit. He wasn't good enough for girls like this. It was better to be remembered for being the biggest asshole ever than the biggest loser ever. At least he'd be burned into her memory. "That's…horrible to say. That's not what I was thinking at all."

"I don't really give a shit _what_ you were thinking," he hissed as he slid up from the table, aware that other people were watching them now. "It's horrible to say because him a horrible guy, but I tell it like I see it. Have a nice life. Peace out. Go fuck yourself."

With that, he left the table and stormed out of the restaurant.

Akira slammed the door to the apartment behind him so hard that his posters teetered on the wall. He slid down against the door and wrapped his arms around his knees, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. He was numb, and had been the whole way driving home. He was right—she was right. He was a horrible person.

His phone vibrated in this pocket and he pulled it out and squinted at it in the dark.

ROSA – I don't know what's wrong with you! Why did you do that? Why did you say those things? Everyone in the restaurant was staring at us! Here I thought you were a nice guy, shy, and sweet, and even really handsome, and then you turn around for no reason and become the WORST GUY I HAVE EVER BEEN OUT WITH! I thought you were DIFFERENT and you ARE! How do you treat people like this and live with yourself? You don't know me at all! You didn't even ask me one question the whole time, and then act like you "know my game"! I was so excited that we were finally going out and YOU ENDED UP BEING THE WORST GUY I HAVE EVER BEEN OUT WITH! YOU GO FUCK YOURSELF!

He gulped and scrolled to the next message waiting on his phone and the reason it had just rung in his pocket.

MATT – WARFRAME?

Akira let the phone tumble off his knees and onto the carpet, dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, and began to cry. His wailing echoed in the lonely apartment and he banged the back of his head against the door.

He fucked it up.

 _If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son. I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one._


	7. Chapter 7: The Worst Guy

Chapter Seven: The Worst Guy

The alarm was going off on his phone but he didn't hear it. He was still sitting in front of the TV, beer cans littered around him in a circle and a full ashtray at his feet. Akira'd been up playing Call of Duty all night. It was now six, and it had at least been a full eight hours of massacre.

One good thing about realizing you were an absolute piece-of-shit horrible person was that it freed you up to fuck with other people without abandon. Akira always had been able to get decent kill streaks, being a natural at video games (shit, after twenty years of the controller life, you _better_ be good) but he'd been on fire all night. He'd been called all the worst names he could imagine over the last eight hours as he camped other players, knifed them, stole their kills, and caused many a rage-quit. He was on a roll, and it felt _good_ when he didn't think anything could.

 _You are the worst guy I have ever been out with._

This thought caused him to glance over at his phone, and he realized it was 6:13 in the morning and that the alarm had been going off for something like ten minutes now. He just hadn't heard it with the headset on.

He rolled his eyes and reached over and turned the X-box and TV off. The beer on the coffee table was still cold, and he took a long drink from it. He was drunk and had already accepted he'd be working drunk and without sleep—they could write him up again if they were that hell-bent on it. It'd be their loss. Nobody knew how to handle his accounts, and for as horrible an asshole as he was, his reps and clients loved him. If he didn't get a rep or customer compliment passed down at least once a week from corporate, it wasn't a good week. They loved _him_ and they loved making money _off_ him—he loved them too and got paid in pride instead of dollars.

Akira fumbled into the bathroom and flipped the shower on, then lit a cigarette and sat down on the edge of the bed while the water warmed up. He glared at the wall. _Of course they love me—everybody loves me. I don't need some fucking girl to love me. I know what the fuck love_ _is._

His hair hung in his face and he was driving like he'd been killing it the night before on Live, swerving through lanes, cutting people off, and riding asses. His stereo was up so loud that his windows were shaking and his seat was vibrating. He was blasting Linkin Park/Jay-Z Collision Course again, and "Dirt Off Your Shoulder/Lying From You" was very astute this morning. The whole world should have to hear it, because he was living it.

Aaaaaaannndddd…freight train. He was going to be late.

Akira slumped back in his driver's seat and blew smoke out the window. He glanced over his phone in the seat next to him. The light was on. He leaned over and looked at it. It was a text.

ROSA – I just wanted to let you know I was thinking that you've got problems. You need to admit you've got some problems.

Oh, sure, he knew what to say to that one. This chick really needed to leave him alone.

AKIRA – I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one.

There was probably some way to block numbers, but he'd never needed to do it before and didn't know how. Akira leaned back in the seat and pulled the brandy he'd mixed with Coke out of the cup holder and took a massive swig. It trailed down his chin and he wiped it off, glancing at the phone to see if there was literally anything in the world she could say that would retort that. There were two more bottles in the back seat. Today was not the day for coffee.

Headphones weren't technically allowed a work, but he was wearing them anyways—the small ones that you could sneak in your ears, not like his massive Turtle Beach X-Box headset. The same six songs were set on his phone to play on repeat. Collision Course, back to front, over and over.

He took another swig of the Coke and brandy.

Akira was killing it at work today, despite being too drunk to risk staggering to the restroom and taking the piss he really needed to take. He'd cleared the inbox of email, though he still wasn't picking up the phone. It'd ruin his vibe. Fuck Matt and Jennifer today. He was chilling with Chester Bennington and Jay-Z . On repeat.

He took another swig of the Coke and looked up to see Jennifer saying something down at him. She was pissed.

Jennifer motioned for him to take out the headphones. He did it—and was not happy about it. Akira made sure to give her a look that said so.

"Listen, I get you're in a shit mood and everything, but I've been trying to tell you that Miaka brought some of those Japanese dumplings you always freak out about for us. You always say that a food notification is the _one_ email that we always need to remember to CC you on, remember?"

He shrugged. "I don't want any fucking dumplings."

She motioned back to the office. "Well, then you go tell her and Taka that. Taka tried calling you, you didn't pick up, so he called me to tell you to go back to the office. He said she brought in a batch special for you. Something about that order you pulled off last week."

"I'm not walking in on their Tuesday lunch love-fest, dumplings or not."

She frowned down at him and whispered. "Bullshit. You just don't want to get caught with brandy on your breath. It's really bad. You're not fooling me, and you're not going to fool him, either. You better get in there."

"Alright, fine. I'm just going to go to the bathroom first. Tell him I'm on a call and will be there in a few minutes. Tell him that's why I didn't pick up the line. And if you mention _anything_ to _anybody_ about the fucking brandy, you're a dead woman."

His ears were ringing and the lights were too bright. The bathroom was the best place to be alone at work. Since it was mostly women in the office, the men's room was usually a private spot to take care of necessities and blow off some steam. Sometimes he brought an E-cigarette with him and vaped in the stalls.

Now he was in there to try to straighten himself up before this meeting. He didn't think about the brandy on his breath, and that wasn't something he'd be able to hide easily, but he figured he could at least preen a little bit before meeting a lady who'd just spent a few days in the hospital. Like always, Miaka deserved better than a jackass. Taka, fuck, whatever, he deserved whatever was given to him.

Akira ran his fingers through his hair and put his hair back up in a ponytail. Matt was right—the roots were getting bad. His eyes were bloodshot and dark (though still not quite right from the other day), and he looked like exactly what he was—drunk and sleep deprived. There'd be no saving face on this one. It was what it was. Time to face the music. Time to put on the performance of a lifetime.

Akira opened the door and peeked inside the office before entering. Taka and Miaka were sitting at the small round table in the corner of the office, and it occurred to Akira that if he sat down with them, there'd be no avoiding the brandy getting noticed. They were talking lowly in Japanese to one another.

"Miaka! Hi! I heard you were in the hospital! How are you feeling?" Akira waved to her and shut the door behind himself, but hovered very near it, ready to bolt.

She turned in her chair and faced towards him. As always, she stood up and gave him a small, polite bow. "Akira-san! Great to see you! I'm feeling much better, thank you!"

"That's great. We were getting worried about you. A nice girl like you doesn't belong in the hospital. It's an awful thought."

"Yes, it was scary, but Taka came and took care of me, so I'm happy overall."

"That's good. Thanks for making dumplings for everyone. That was nice of you."

"It feels good to be cooking again. I'm not a very good cook, but it makes me happy that you all like them so much."

Taka cut them off. Unlike usual, he wasn't being polite. Even Miaka looked back at him with a concerned look on her face. "Enough with the chit-chat. That's not why we're here. Where's the book?"

Akira froze. The book. Of course. This was all about the book. He'd forgotten the book completely in the hell of the last twenty-four hours. "The book?" Taka was even going to break out this fanboy thing in front of his _wife_? Just how crazy was this guy?

Taka stood up from his chair. Miaka crossed her hands over her chest and wrung them together. She turned towards Akira and bit her lip. Was she looking at him with hope? Were those tears in her eyes?

"Yes, the _book,_ Akira. I told you to bring it in with you today."

"I forgot it at home. I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

Taka slammed his fist on the table. Akira'd never seen him this mad, and it occurred to him that maybe Taka hasn't slept the night before either. There was a fire in his eyes that Akira had never seen before. He'd been kind of kidding himself when he fantasized about Taka firing him over the whole book thing, but now it seemed like a real possibility. He might not just get fired, either. Taka knew martial arts and looked ready to give Akira a beating.

Akira swallowed. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'll bring it tomorrow, serious."

Miaka cut in quietly. "Taka, please don't. He doesn't understand. He thinks it's just a book. Look at him."

Taka glared past her and right into Akira. "No, not _tomorrow._ You are going to go home and get that book right now and bring it back here." He rushed up to Akira and shoved him up against the office door. He almost knocked Miaka over on the way. When he was face to face with Akira, Taka grimaced. "God. You're drunk."

Akira stared back at him, dumbfounded. No words.

"I can fire you just for that. I _should_ fire you just for that." He pushed his hands into Akira's shoulders. "You walk around here like this place is just a game for you. I told you to bring that book today, and you blew me off. I _need_ that book, Akira."

Akira shook his head. "It's somewhere at my place. I…don't even really know what I did with it. I mean…it's just…a book?"

Miaka crept forward and put a small hand on Taka's shaking shoulder.

"Taka, maybe Akira-san is right. Maybe it's just a book now."

 _Just a book_ _now_ _? If it wasn't always a book, what was it_ _before_ _?_

Taka's voice softened and he asked Miaka something in Japanese. Akira was very sorry for asking his parents not to teach them their language. While Taka held Akira fast against the door, he and his wife quickly discussed with one another in words Akira couldn't understand.

He finally released Akira and Akira fell forward, clasping his hands against the door for balance. He had no idea Taka was this strong.

"Akira, go home. You're no good to me drunk. I'll tell HR you were sick and had to go home early." He pointed his finger accusingly at the young man. "But I'm telling you, this is the _last_ time I cover for you. You bring that fucking book with you tomorrow and you give it to me."

He just swore. Akira didn't even know Taka could. "Yeah, sure. I'll go put my out-of-office on."

He bolted out of the office like it was on fire and could immediately hear Taka and Miaka start yelling at one another through the door, and even though he couldn't understand what they were saying, he knew anger, and he knew Taka was covered in it. He'd seriously fucked up. And it wasn't just the brandy.

The good thing about leaving after a half-day was that there was no usual traffic. He kept his stereo down low and just chugged drink after drink of the brandy-Coke.

"That was seriously the most fucked up shit of all time," Akira muttered to himself.

When he got back to his apartment, he frantically started looking for the book. It was sitting open on his dresser. He flipped through it, going straight to the last page. It was blank. Confused, he backed up a few pages. They were also blank. He turned the book backwards, page by page, until he finally found some words on the paper. He read them aloud.

"Akira turned the book backwards, page by page, until he finally found some words on the paper. He…read them…aloud."

He flung the book against the wall and jumped backwards onto his bed.

The book fell face-down on top of his stereo. Akira gripped his hands to his mouth and stared at it in terror. This shit was not real. _This shit was not real. That was a fucking book. It's just a fucking book._

He scrambled for his phone in his pocket and dialed in Taka's number. It rang several times, and then ran to voicemail. He waited for Taka's polite voice to tell him thank you for calling Tiger Medical and to leave a message. Akira couldn't think of what to say while staring at the book as though it were going to jump up and attack him at any time.

"Taka," he finally whispered into the phone, "You need to call me back. About that book. I think…you need to tell me what is up with this thing. I'm fucking freaking out."

He hung up, set the phone down on the bed, and reached a shaking hand out to pull the book off the sound system. Akira flipped to the last written page.

 _He hung up, set the phone down on the bed, and reached a shaking hand out to pull the book off the sound system. Akira flipped to the last written page._

Akira flung the book back at the wall again and this time it tumbled back behind the stereo, hidden behind the shining black plastic and the white wall.

He pulled his fingers through his hair and sank back against the foot of the bed, more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. His heart was crashing into his chest and his neck was throbbing. Taka was right. This wasn't just some kind of book. It wasn't a story about Miaka, The Priestess of Suzaku, and her Seven Warriors. _It was about…him. About Akira. Akira Kawasaki, but Not Japanese._

Akira didn't know how long he'd been sitting there frozen until his phone rang. He answered it frantic without checking to see who it was.

"Taka, Taka, Jesus, shit, thanks for calling me back. You're right. This thing is fucking crazy. I think this fucking thing is _alive_."

Silence on the other line. "Akira? What are you doing? You sound nuts and you sound drunk. Did you get into a fight with your boss or something? Aren't you supposed to be at work? I was calling to leave you a message."

Akira frowned and looked at the ID on the phone. It was David.

"David, what the fuck are you calling me for?! I'm at work!"

"Yeah, I know! I just told you that!"

"So what do you want, then?! What's so important you need to call me while I'm at work?!"

Akira was not going to tell David about The Universe of the Four Gods. Being a doctor, David would slap him on Xanax so fast it'd make his head spin.

Wait, would that be bad? It occurred to Akira he'd tried to get the pills off David before, but David knew better than to prescribe his friend downers. Those downers would be _downed_ in minutes. The whole bottle. David knew better than to enable him to do that.

"Your mother called me today! She's making dinner for us tonight. Susie and I are going over there tonight and you're coming too. She wanted to thank me for raking this weekend."

"I sure as shit am not going over there. I've got…stuff going on."

"You better be there. Or I'll drive over to your place, pull the fucking headset off you, pull the fucking beer from your hand, and drive you over there myself."

Akira put his head in his hand and closed his eyes. "Why is it such a big deal that I go?"

"It doesn't matter. Dinner is at six. Be there, and don't look like an idiot. Sober up—I can tell you're drunk. You're slurring your words so bad I can hardly understand you. I don't care how good you think you are at your job. No one is indispensable, and you aren't either. If they catch you, I'm not paying your bills. You don't get unemployment for being fired for being drunk. So sober up, and be there at six. Or I'm coming to get you, no joke. Besides, your mother is making your favorite. Dumplings. See you at six."

David hung up. Dumplings, sure.

Akira looked towards his stereo and wiped his nose.

None of this was real. He was just fucking drunk and this whole thing was a joke. A hallucination. Maybe he'd never made it in to work in the first place.

Akira kicked his shoes off and crawled into his bed. _Of course, I didn't sleep last night. I'm dreaming while awake. Get some sleep, wake up, and sober up for dinner._

He set his alarm on the phone for five and slunk under the covers. Despite the madness of the last few hours, he was truly drunk, and was asleep within minutes.

Akira took a quick shower and dressed in some new clothes. He still smelled like brandy and gurgled Listerine a few times and brushed his teeth with a fury. If there was one thing his parents were making clear to him lately, it was that they didn't like his supposed drinking problem.

Sure, he'd put them through a lot. He was a good boy turned bad. He knew it.

Akira felt better when he got into the car. More sober, though a headache was coming on. Akira turned his stereo up and rapped along to the music. Time to be normal. Normal was what his parents always strived for, and pride was what Akira strived for. It was a symbiotic kind of relationship.

"Hey mom, I'm hooooome," he whistled as he pulled the front door open. He was hit with the smell of some good home-cooking, and if Akira liked anything, he liked himself a home-cooked meal. Being totally unable to cook anything himself without burning it into a black crisp, a good meal was always special and something coveted. He never bothered to learn how to cook, despite his mother's attempts at teaching him. _Men don't cook. Cooking is women shit._

She appeared from around the corner, smiling at him. "Akira! You made it on time. Please come sit with us. I just set the table."

"You know me, ma. When there's food on the table, I'm never late."

"Of course," she replied. "I made your favorite. Steamed dumplings. David and everyone are already here. We were just waiting for you."

"Oh really? I thought he was just bringing Susie," Akira mentioned as he walked past the kitchen with his mother behind him and into the dining room. His face dropped. All six chairs were ready to go. His father was waiting at the head, David and Susie were at the side, his mother's chair was at the other head, and some black-haired girl was sitting on the other side of the table with an empty chair for him.

 _Son of a bitch. They fucking set me up. Again. He fucking knew I blew that date on Sunday and he fucking set me up._

This wasn't the first time they'd done this to him, and he should have seen it coming. It was, in fact, the third time this had now happened to him. David and his mother apparently spent long hours discussing a suitable mate for their wayward son and friend, and both times it had been some girl who was over-the-top nice, over-the-top overqualified, and over-the-top boring to high heaven. And now here he was, again.

"Akira! Hey! Glad you could make it," David stood up and welcomed him. He motioned over to the girl across from him at the table. "This is Anna, a friend of mine from work. I thought she could join us for dinner tonight." She wasn't pretty—not at all. He'd never be interested in this one.

Akira rubbed his hands together and then shook Anna's tiny, limp hand before taking a seat. "Nice to meet you, Anna. A real pleasure. Any friend of David's is a friend of mine."

"Akira," his mother mentioned as she took her place at the table and started sorting out food. "Anna is a nurse at Holy Catholic with David. She's familiar with the products you sell at work. Why don't you tell us about what you do?"

Well, this was easy, at least. Akira knew his products better than half his sales reps did. He droned on about them while scooping food onto his plate. He was sure he sounded impressive, backed by the fact that his father had that proud look on his face that he always did when Akira started sounding technical and vaguely smart.

Then David started talking about his work as well as a doctor in the OB ward, while Anna talked about how things were going on in the ER ward, where she worked. Akira was right. She was boring as hell. He would fly under the radar while they discussed around him. He'd done it before. He wasn't really listening to what they were saying. The food was good. That was more important. David was talking about one of those women who vehemently claimed they couldn't be having a baby since they hadn't been having sex. He called them 'Miraculate Conceptions'. It happened sometimes. Jesus was born a lot more often than people guessed.

"You never know what kind of crazy people you're going to run into," Anna mentioned to David as their conversation continued. "Did you hear what happened to Rosa yesterday, who works in the ER with me?"

Rosa? Akira's ears perked for a minute, but then again, there were a lot of Rosas in the world, and like most Akiras were Japanese, most Rosas were Mexican. Probably not the same girl.

"No, what happened," David replied.

"She went to Olive Garden with some guy last night and he called her a slut in front of the entire restaurant. Everyone in the ward was talking about it. She's such a nice girl! What a horrible guy!"

Akira spit his food onto his plate. His mother quickly derided him and handed him a napkin. "Akira, have some manners, please."

"Sorry, mom, sorry," he mumbled as he wiped his mouth and his plate.

Maybe not the same girl. Maybe some other Rosa who went to Olive Garden last night and got called a slut in front of the whole establishment?

 _Fat chance, motherfucker. You just got caught._

"Sorry, Mrs. Kawasaki. I probably shouldn't have used that word in front of you," Anna continued. Akira's mother nodded her forgiveness, and Anna went on. "But really, what kind of people are out there, anyways? That's why I get really nervous about dating people I don't know, or people who aren't friends of people I already know and trust." She glanced over at Akira and blushed.

"Mom, you'll need to excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom," Akira started to get up.

"Akira, sit down. We don't leave the table until everyone is done eating."

"I feel really bad for her," Anna continued. "I mean, to be engaged and everything, and then to have your fiance die like that. She agonized over meeting this new guy for days, and he blew her off _twice_ before he finally even agreed to go out with her. We were all rooting for her, too. We've all been trying to get her to get back out there again for months, because losing John was hard on her. And then to be called a slut in front of a bunch of strangers after finally having the courage to go back out there again? What a nightmare."

David nodded in agreement and chewed on his food. Susie came in to the conversation. "John? Wasn't that the name of the Marine who died in Afghanistan that they had the service for over in the chapel about a year ago? Remember, David? We went together."

"Yep, I remember. That was awful. It was horribly sad."

 _And_ _, just so you all are aware, I am the most horrible person Rosa ever_ _met_ _. Apparently even worse than whoever iced her man. Her fucking_ _Marine_ _. A_ _real_ _man._

 _"_ Then, to top it all off," Anna added, "Apparently this guy texted her this morning and called her a bitch. He said, and we all saw it on her phone, and I quote this guy for real, 'I have a bunch of problems but a bitch isn't one'.

David's eyes narrowed at Akira.

If Akira hadn't felt bad before, God had just invited everyone over to his parents' house just to watch Him shove Akira right good in the nuts.

Finally Akira's father spoke up. "Best that she got it over with him, then. A man like that treating the love of a fallen soldier in such a way. Completely disrespectful. Unbelievable. Some people."

"Akira, eat your food," his mother motioned. He moved his utensils onto the plate and stared at the doughballs of pork. There was no way that food was going into his mouth.

"Sorry, ma, seriously have to go to the bathroom."

"Sit and eat your food."

"Nope, it's an emergency. No worries, though. BRB."

Akira leaned against the garage door and spit smoke into the air. The front door opened and he heard footsteps quickly approaching him from around the corner.

David appeared, looking more ready to kick ass than he had at the gym the other night. He walked up to Akira and put his hand out. "Give me your phone."

"No."

"Give it to me."

"I'm not giving you my phone."

David walked straight up to him and stared at him right in the face. Akira could smell pork and soy sauce on his breath. He was kind of surprised that David could be this intimidating, but maybe it was because he felt like Jello in general at the moment. "Why? _Why_ , Akira? Maybe because you've got 'ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain't one'? Isn't that one of your precious little catch-phrases?"

"I don't know what you mean. Really."

"The fucking phone, Akira, right now, or I'll put that fucking cigarette out in your eye."

Akira shoved his hand into his pocket, pulled his phone out, and slung the device into David's hand, defeated.

His friend stood quiet in the driveway for a minute or two, flipping through screens. Akira closed his eyes and rested his head on the cold aluminum. This was like getting pulled over by the cops and getting your shit searched. Worse, like getting searched by the K-9 unit with an ounce of weed in the back seat. Fucked. Just completely fucked.

He wasn't expecting the hard jerk of his jaw and the flash of light in his eyes. Akira reeled and fell against the garage door and the concrete, making a loud bang as he hit the ground. When his vision came back into balance, he grabbed his cheek and looked up. There was blood in his mouth.

David stood above him, shaking the phone in his hand. "Yep, Akira. Yep. I knew it. I knew it as soon as the words came out of her mouth. You piece of _shit_." He tossed the phone onto the asphalt.

Akira dropped his head into his hand. Tears started welling up in his eyes. There was nothing he could say.

That was alright, David had plenty to say. "You know, I tried. I really did. Because I actually cared about you, and what happened to you, even if you didn't. I've watched you drink yourself into toxic shock and still get into the car, I've watched you cough until you're purple and light up another smoke anyway, and I've even watched you disrespect my wife multiple times and I've stayed silent through it all. Because you were my best friend. But now I'm done. I don't want anything to do with a piece of shit like you. I don't want your name tied to mine in any way, from here on out."

Akira looked up at him, feeling a tear slip down his cheek. Blood was pooling up on his tongue. "David, please, seriously…"

"No. No. No, 'David please'. We are _done_. I've stood by the sidelines and watched you fuck your life up for years now, always hoping that with just a little bit of help you'd turn shit around. You'd go back to being the fun and smart guy I've known my whole life and was glad to call my friend. But that guy is gone, and he's not coming back. Look at you. _Just look at you_. You're calling girls sluts in public now for kicks? Here's the difference, Akira." David leaned down. "The difference is now, you're sinking, you're falling, and you're grabbing anything or anyone you can find to drag down with you. Drag down into death. You're already dead. And I'm tired of grieving over you. You bring nothing but grief to everyone around you, and now you've even gone so far as to do it to the people I work with, Akira. You're the talk of the whole hospital, and that girl was good enough to at least not tell everyone your name, and thank god didn't put it on her phone. Everybody loves Rosa, and you know what, everybody was talking about you. But when I heard about it, I was just hoping to holy hell that it was some other guy. That it wasn't the Rosa you talked about on Sunday. But in my heart, I knew it was the same girl. And I knew the guy was you.

"So, let me tell you something. I'm going to do you one last solid, because I owe the old Akira at least something for all our good years together. I'm going to go back in there and lie for you, just one last time, one more lie. I'm not going to tell your father you're the guy who called the dead Marine's girl a slut at Olive Garden, because then it'll be him out here beating your ass, and not me. And you're lucky I'm doing that, because if anyone deserves to get the living shit beat out of them, it's _your_ sorry, piece of shit ass. And that's it. That's my last favor to you, my friend. The last time I'll ever see your pretty face is going to be in a casket, and that's only because I love your parents. But I'll tell you what, I'm not going to be sad. Like you say to yourself all the time, you're already dead. Akira died a long time ago, and I'm sick of watching his corpse make shit out of his name. You're not going to make it to thirty, Akira. I'd be shocked if you hit twenty-six. The sooner, the better for everyone else around you. And I hope that John beats the living shit out of you in the afterlife. You deserve nothing less.

"Now, get in your fucking car, and turn your fucking engine on, and guzzle some of that brandy that's all over your fucking breath, and get the fuck out of my life. Don't ever call me again, because I'm blocking your fucking number. I am done. Get the fuck out of here. Now. _You fucking piece of shit_."

Akira sat in the local grocery store parking lot, in the backseat of his car, drinking a full liter of Coke and brandy now. The stereo was playing low—he didn't want to attract attention. People passed by him, their carts rattling as they walked by the car, not noticing the young man slouched into the back seat. The red light of the store sign faded from red to black with every person that went past.

His face was swollen and his jaw was aching. Of all the people in his life, the last one he ever expected to kick his ass was David, and yet, here he was.

Akira felt his head starting to slump to his chest. He'd already been here for a few hours, and if he stayed must longer, someone was going to notice him and he'd get busted for a DUI. Then his ass would be in jail, where he maybe belonged. But nobody'd bail him out. His eyes started to shut and he knew he was about to pass out. Before he did, he reached into the front seat and grabbed his phone and dialed.


	8. Chapter 8: Good People

Chapter Eight: Good People

Akira awoke in an unfamiliar place. He was still dressed in yesterday's clothes. The room was damp and smelled like mold and beer. He sat up on his elbows on what seemed to be an old pull-out couch and looked at the paper thin sheet that'd been pulled over him. He was in a basement. The walls were red and white concrete with some massive foundation cracks lining around the fogged windows. There was a small, beat up card table next to the couch with a can of Monster, a pipe, and a bag of weed along with a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds.

What time was it?

His phone was still in his pocket. Ten-thirty. No messages. He'd probably just lost his job. He dialed Tiger Medical. Taka didn't answer his phone. Akira dialed the sales line. Julie picked up. Of course she did. She was the last person he felt like talking to.

"Julie, it's Akira. I can't make it in today and Taka's not there."

"Oh! Akira, we were wondering where you were. You must be really sick. Taka said you got sick in his office yesterday. You _sound_ really sick."

"I am. I just…woke up. Just tell everybody I'll be back tomorrow."

"Oh, okay, feel better. I worry about you sometimes, Akira."

She was going to go off on one of her tirades. "No need to worry, just got a bad flu. See you tomorrow." He cut the line and set the phone down on the table.

Akira rubbed his jaw and pushed a hand through his tangled hair. He started to reach for the can of Monster, but realized that it was more urgent to take a piss then get his caffeine buzz on. Akira stood up from the squeaky mattress and stretched. He ached all over. Apparently David had clocked him a little harder than he'd initially thought and he'd taken a bigger hit than it seemed. There was a open gash on his elbow.

He trudged his way up the thin, wooden staircase and pushed the chipped white door to the main floor open. This whole place was cramped, and the upstairs smelled like fried food and a hint of weed. Akira wandered around, looking for the bathroom. Finally, he found it.

After finishing up with the toilet, he wandered over to the small, cracked mirror and rubbed his jaw again. It was purple and bruised, but not broken. Dried blood had settled in a patchy streak on the side of his face. His cheeks were tight from all his sobbing the night before. His hair was a tangled mess.

The phone was ringing. Nobody was home but Akira. Besides the chime, the house was silent. Akira wandered to the seventies-style kitchen and picked up the receiver.

"…Hello?"

"Hey, Akira, is that you, bro?"

"Yeah, it's me. Is this you, Reed?"

"Yeah. How you holding up?"

"I feel like shit. I'm probably going to be puking in your bathroom for a while. So I'm just going to apologize for the smell in advance."

"Well, good, get that shit out of you. You were fucking drunk as shit last night. Some of the worst I've ever seen, man. Like, when I got into your car, I almost thought you were dead or something, and I thought about taking you to the hospital, 'cause I figured you've got good insurance through your work and all, but I figured you'd probably just get pissed if I did. Your eyes were fucking rolling into your head though, man. And you are some fucking heavy dead weight. Be glad I'm strong as shit."

"Yeah, I was pretty wasted. Thanks for picking me up."

"Sure, no problem. Better than getting a DUI or killing somebody in the car, I figure. But you shouldn't be driving fucked up. That's a good way to kill people, including yourself."

"I don't really give a fuck."

"Hey man, come on now, don't talk like that. You're probably still drunk. I left you something to drink and some stuff to smoke by the couch. Don't know what you smoke, so I bought you a pack of Marlboros on the way home, because who doesn't like those? And sorry about that couch, by the way. I know the springs stick out and it's got some really gnarly stains, and I'm not gonna tell you where those came from, but it's the only other place to sleep in the house. I couldn't put you in my bed because I have to wake up for work at five, so I didn't really know where else to put you. I like you and all, but I didn't feel like snuggling up to your drunk ass."

"It's cool. Thanks for picking me up. I owe you one."

"Yeah, sure as shit do. So…what happened? If you're going to go on a bender like that, don't you have a better place to do it than the Jewel parking lot?"

"It's nothing. Just had a bad day."

"Was it over that Rosa chick again? Are you still tripping balls over that girl? Cause if it is, she's got your balls in a sling, man. You're going to drink yourself into a coma over this chick. That's why I left you my weed, and that's the last of my best stuff, so use it wisely. Better to smoke that then drink yourself into the shitter again. It's so stupid, really. That booze is legal but not that stuff. Like, you can die from booze, you know, but you literally CANNOT kill yourself with weed. You could get higher than fuck, smoke a thousand joints, and you'll just pass out. But you won't die."

"Thanks for the info."

"Yeah, it's good to know, right? So you can just finish the whole bag and not worry about it. I'll run up to Wisconsin this week and get some more from my guy. You just rest up and get ready for the party tonight. I'm probably gonna have like twenty people over."

Akira rubbed his forehead. A party was the last thing he was in the mood for. "No, that's okay, I think I'll pass."

"No, choice, bro. You got no ride. Your ride's at Jewel, reeking of Christian Brothers. We're going to have to air that shit out. So, anyways, just chill at my place for the day and sober up—before we get shitfaced again tonight, but that's the good kind of shitfaced, not the sit in the backseat of your car and get shitfaced kind of shitfaced."

"I should seriously probably not drink again today."

"Pfft, I just got beer, not booze. Good beer, too. Don't drink it all today while I'm not there because it's for tonight. But listen, I gotta go. They're uber strict about breaks here. So hang tight and I'll call you later. I get off at 2:30, so I can coddle your ass for an hour or two before everybody else starts showing up."

"Gee, thanks, bro."

"No prob. Catch you later. The party'll be good for you. I know good people. You'll have a good time, and you seem like you could use a good time."

Akira hung up the phone and wondered if he remembered the last time he'd had a good time. Not many of those lately, for sure. He looked at the fridge next to the phone. It was littered with pictures taped to the surface. All of them with Reed and a myriad of people. His 'good people', Akira guessed. Most of them were party pictures, with his red friend usually standing out in the crowd with some sort of ridiculous look on his face. Most of the time, wearing shades, even in the dark.

A picture in the middle caught his attention, and he ran his finger over it. There were plenty of girls in the photos, but the platinum blonde in this picture was certainly a step above the rest. She and Reed were on a boat, with him beaming at the wheel shirtless and her arms wrapped around his chest. This one definitely had it going on in the front in that bikini. She looked kind of like a young Sharon Stone with that whole Basic Instinct look going on. _Shit, I'd hit that. Reed's a lucky guy._

 _I need a cigarette._

He stumbled back down to the basement and slumped back down into the couch. He fingered the pack of cigarettes. Akira actually hated Marlboros—they were a lot harsher than his usual Camels and left a bad taste in his mouth, but he appreciated the thought.

Akira missed Steve and felt really guilty that his little dude would not be eating this morning.

He leaned forward and rubbed his chin. So, that was it, then. He just needed to sit around all day like a bitch and wait for his husband to come home from work. Akira laid back into the mattress and blew smoke at the sagging wooden ceiling. Reed was right. The springs were totally poking his back.

Reed's shower was a horrible, mold-covered, cramped thing, but at least it got the job done. Akira scrubbed the blood off his face and elbow, and pushed the crappy anti-dandruff shampoo into his hair. The towel didn't really look clean. Whatever. He needed a change of clothes.

Akira found Reed's room and found that it was also a trampled, run-down disaster just like the rest of the house. Apparently Reed was really into CDs. They were falling all over his dresser, and a few rattled onto the carpet while Akira rummaged through the drawers. At least the two brothers had a similar taste in clothes. Reed's everyday shit was just was just as old and beat up as Akira's was.

He pulled on a pair of gray sweats, wandered into the living room, and flicked on the TV. Akira lit up a smoke and channel surfed for a bit. Looked like Reed at least had cable. That lucky bastard.

There was nothing on TV this time of day besides Judge Judy. Akira switched it off. He noticed an old-school CD system next to the television and turned it on. Creedence Clearwater Revival started playing. _Who'll Stop the Rain._ Akira sang along to it. He liked Classic Rock, though he still preferred his Rap. It encapsulated his rage better. Classic Rock was a little too chill for him.

Reed wasn't kidding. That was some fucking crazy good weed, and Akira'd spent at least an hour melted into the couch, going from cigarette, to pipe, back to cigarette, and pipe again. He checked his phone. There was a message. It was Jennifer. She wanted to know if she should stop by after work and bring him some soup.

Akira smiled down at his phone despite himself. They joked pretty badly with one another, but Jennifer really was a stand-up kind of gal. She actually gave a shit, and he was glad to call her a friend. She was a bitch to most people, but not to him. He told her thanks but no thanks, and he'd see her tomorrow. It was already one. Reed would be back soon. Akira'd have to make sure to give him a big kiss and hug when he came through the door, his knight in shining armor. His very own Prince Charming.

Akira grabbed the phone. Letting go of the past seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe it was the weed leading him along, maybe it was what he still had left of a conscience. Maybe it was because he was finally finding his words.

It rang until it went to voice message, which was good, since that was exactly what Akira was hoping for. He didn't want to actually converse—he just wanted to let out how he felt.

"Listen, I wanted to call you and apologize for the other night. I don't expect you to ever pick up or ever call me back. But just listen to what I have to say now, and take it for what it is. I told you at the table I tell it like I see it, and this I how I really see it.

"The way I see it, you're looking for someone different, because _you're_ different. You're different than any girl I've ever met. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and you probably can guess I'm a pretty harsh critic when it comes to how people look. Your hair is like a bonfire and your eyes are like fresh cut grass on a Saturday morning in July. You'd probably be a better model than I ever was, because I can't take a good picture for the life of me, and you've probably never had a bad one in your life. You just can't miss with that smile of yours. You said you want a guy who brings you down to your knees. Trust me, that smile of yours will bring that guy to his knees too, and he's probably going to be the luckiest son of a bitch on this Earth when those knees touch the ground."

The message clicked off. He called back and continued with another message.

"You didn't deserve what I pulled on you, and honestly, I did it because I was scared shitless. You said I made _you_ nervous? You made _me_ fucking crumble. I've never been at a loss for words in my entire life like you made me, and trust me, if you knew me, you'd know I never actually shut the fuck up. I didn't blow you off those two times because I was trying to be a jerk. I did it because I was too scared—because I knew that the second you actually started to get to know me—you'd know I wasn't worth your time. Because, you were right, I'm a horrible person. I drink and I smoke and I don't give a fuck about most anything. But I do—and I even did at the time—give a damn about how I treated you. And, like I said, you didn't deserve that. I said I was pissed that I'd spent forty bucks on you. It wasn't true. I'd have dropped forty K just to see that knee-bending smile of yours, but there's just some things money can't buy. I should have been damned glad instead for the bargain you gave me at forty."

Message dropped off. Akira called again.

"I told you I wasn't interested in Sarah, and that was maybe the one true thing I told you. You were all I saw from the moment I met you, and will probably see for the rest of my life, however long that's going to be. I wish I _could_ have been the nice guy you'd be proud to bring to your parents, if only because I'd be stoked to meet the two people who could make someone like _you_. I wish I _could_ be the guy to sit with you and your friends at Starbucks every Thursday, or whatever day, or _every_ day, and just shoot the shit with you and your friends. I'd buy your expensive coffee every time, for all of you, just because you love them, and…I would have loved you too. And I don't even _have_ a Facebook, but if you were my girl, I'd make one just to plaster it with pictures of you and me doing stupid, fun shit together. _My_ friends would be jealous, not yours. And about being your sugar daddy? Shit, I'd spend every day on the street panhandling from dawn to dusk if money was what you were after. But I don't get that you're that kind of girl. I'm just saying that for you, I would have done it. I would have done a lot of things different."

Message dropped off again. This fucking thing.

"Anyways, I guess that's about it, and this is probably the longest goodbye you'll ever get in your life, especially from some asshole that isn't worth the time it's taking you to listen to his rambling shit. But I just hope you remember this message—or rather, _these_ messages, because voicemail is crap—instead of what I pulled on you. You said you're still single because you're waiting for basically a Prince Charming, and I'm telling you to stay that way until you actually find him. Don't waste your time with guys that aren't worth it—don't just put it out there for some guy to get bragging rights he doesn't deserve. Wait for that charming guy instead, that guy you can laugh with, share your darkest secrets with, and that makes days go by so fast because you're having so much fun you can't even remember having ever cried. Because _he's_ got to be out there somewhere, if _you're_ out there somewhere. Wait for that guy. I'm just sorry I'm not him, but you know that already.

So, anyways, goodbye, and I'm sorry, again. Everybody goes through shit in their life. You've…probably been through some bad shit in your life. Find that guy that makes you the luckiest girl in the world like you wanted, and I promise you, he'll be the luckiest son of a bitch in the history of time. Wait for him. You're worth it. So…I guess that's about all I had to say. Like I said at the restaurant, have a nice life. But this time, I really mean it. I wish you the _best_ in life. Bye."

Akira deleted her number from his phone and flopped back down on the couch.

He pulled himself up from his sleep when he heard the front door bang open and saw Reed coming into the kitchen with arms full of a lunch box, a thermos, and another case of beer. He shoved everything onto the counter and clomped with heavy, stained work boots into the living room while wiping his brow.

"So, how you doing? Good thing you took a nap. I was gonna call on second break but I had to make a few calls, setting shit up for tonight. Didn't have time, and I figured you were cool. You can't run chickenshit or drunk without your ride."

"Yeah, I'm doing better, thanks." Akira started shifting to the side of the couch, because Reed was already well on his way to claiming the other half of it whether Akira liked it not. Reed slid down and started untying his muddy boots.

"Good. 'Cause tonight's going to be the shit. I've got like almost forty people coming around now. Didn't really want that many 'cause it might piss of the neighbors and I'm not sure where the hell I'll fit all the cars, but at least we don't have to worry about yours." Reed leaned over. "Here, hand me a smoke. Mine are in the kitchen and I'm lazy."

Akira handed him one and lit up one of his own. His throat hurt. Marlboros were gross.

"Sucks I have to do it on a Wednesday night, but, shit happens. You only turn thirty once."

So Reed _was_ older than him. Akira had thought so. "Oh. Happy Birthday."

"Pfft." Reed kicked his boots under the coffee table in front of them. "Not my birthday. Billy's. He's one of my boys out in the yard. Figure I'd throw him a hell of a sendoff to the end of his younger days. It's all downhill from thirty. You're halfway dead by then. Your best years all behind you."

"Sure, I get that. Who wants to live forever, anyways?" _You won't even hit twenty-six._ "But why throw a party on a Wednesday? Doesn't everybody have to work tomorrow morning? Why not a Saturday? Or a Friday?"

"Right? That's what I'm saying. But I get Thursdays off, so Wednesdays are my night. My _special_ night, bro. Wednesday nights belong to me and Lynn, but like I said, you only turn thirty once, and Billy's had a rough year. So I am giving up my golden night for his pasty ass instead of her pasty ass."

Akira grinned and leaned forward. His hair fell into his face. It was clearly his turn to dish it back to Reed. " _Lynn_ , huh? Does she have the most special _tail,_ or something? You don't seem like the kind of guy who would remember names."

Reed laughed. "True, true, you got me, bro. Great with faces, shit with names. That's totally me. But trust me, once you meet Lynn, you won't forget that name _or_ that face. Or anything else about her, for that matter. She is _the_ goddess, my friend, and I am merely the slave that gets to spend Wednesday nights with her. You want to be a man?"

Akira frowned. "What kind of question is that?"

"Just shitting you, chill out, bro. But seriously, you want a chick that will make a man out of you, you want bragging rights for the rest of your living days, you go see Lynn. Ain't nothing like her."

"Is she the blonde with you in the picture on the fridge of you on the boat?"

Reed smiled and slapped a heavy, calloused hand on Akira's shoulder. "Sure as shit! You've got good tastes! You picked the holy grail out of many chalices, Indiana Jones!"

"So…is this chick _your_ girlfriend, then? Is that what you're saying?" Akira felt a little raw asking the question. After all, he'd just finished spilling his guts (regrettably, now) to his own failed attempt on the phone only about an hour ago.

"Shit no. Neither of us roll that way. She's just the goddess of my Wednesday nights, and I like to think I'm her god too. At least on Wednesday. The rest of the week is just whoever, whatever, else."

Akira rubbed his nose and crushed his cigarette into the ashtray. He did not really get this guy. Not Wednesday or any other night.

"Alright, we gotta find you something respectable to wear. Can't go introducing my new brother to all my buddies in my old gray sweats." Reed was flipping through the shirts in his overstuffed closet while Akira thumbed through the dresser and picked crumpled a crumpled pair of black pants. He looked up over Reed's shoulder at the closet.

"All your shirts are missing the arms. I can't wear that stuff."

"Pfft. Shirts don't need arms. You need to fly free, bro. Show off those guns."

"I'm not going to meet anybody looking like I came straight out of the eighties. And your pants in the drawer…are these all dirty? Do you even _have_ a washing machine?"

"Do you even _have_ a washing machine," Reed mouthed in mock and tossed a black tank top in Akira's direction. "You're an ungrateful piece of shit. Here. Put that on. That shouldn't offend your delicate sensibilities, and I'm also pretty sure that one's clean. If it smells like sweat, then it's not."

Akira frowned on it and pulled it on. It was a perfect fit, so at least that was good. "This is fine. But I need _pants_."

"Yeah, yeah. Bear with me, bro. I don't usually play Barbie with my friends." Reed came over to the dresser and pulled out a few crooked drawers, clothes gushing out of each one. "Here, this one's my jeans drawer. The only drawer a man really needs." He picked up a pair and shoved them at Akira. They were wrinkled and the knees were stained brown. Then Reed started getting undressed, pulling off his flannel work shirt and peeling off his own jeans. Akira started to leave the room. Reed was right. This was just weird.

"What, never changed before with a dude? It's not like I'm getting naked in here or anything, just change right there. Get over your gay thing. Get over _yourself_." His head poked through another tank top and his red hair fluffed, full of static.

"These are dirty, though."

"Well, the shirt's clean. You can't always get what you want." Reed brushed past a sodden Akira and back out to the living room. "Get dressed, princess. You need to get ready for the ball."

Akira stared down at the pants in his hands.

Reed had gone outside and Akira decided he'd go back to the basement and try to get some sleep back on the springs and paper sheets. The jeans were in damp in the knees and then clung to Akira's legs as he slumped down the crooked stairs. So, this was what the glorious life was like.

Princess was going to be late for the ball. He'd been fighting the hangover all day, and he just wasn't feeling up to this shit today. He wanted to get in his car, drive home, and get back to normal life.

Akira opened an eye but didn't lift his head from the couch when he heard loud footsteps coming down the stairs. People were talking and he could hear the sound of base coming from upstairs. A guy and girl he didn't know who looked to be in their forties seemed totally disappointed to see him laying there.

"You're kind of hogging the love nest here, guy," the dude said to him. _In other words, move it, you're cock-blocking me here_.

Akira didn't say shit back. He crawled out of the sheets and pulled his phone and cigarettes off the nightstand. The ball was in full swing, apparently, and he was also apparently hogging the love chariot with the springs and stains. Of course a love nest would have those wonderful things. Akira deeply regretted sleeping there now.

His head was thumping and the kitchen light seemed incredibly bright when he pushed the basement door open. Smell and sound overwhelmed him. People were crammed in the tiny kitchen, shoulder-to-shoulder. Everyone was holding a beer and looked older than he was. They were laughing, they were smoking—they were partying. All friends who knew one another, and Akira was off in his own little world.

A strong hand gripped his arm and jerked him towards the fridge. Reed was already piss drunk. "Ah! Here you are! Hey, you guys, this is the dude I was telling you about. He's Akira, but-not-Japanese, and he's totally my new little brother." Reed shoved him towards the crowd and rubbed the hand without the beer on the top of Akira's head like Akira was five. Hands stared pushing themselves at Akira, and he almost fell forward under strong, clumsy grips and shakes. Workmen and their wives? He'd dressed right for the party, at least. Everyone here was in similar clothes. This was not a SoHo party.

Reed had already gone on talking to other people in the kitchen and Akira shouldered his way into the living room and to the bathroom. Occupied. _Well, shit._

He weaved his way through the crowd in the living room, Creedence telling him through the CD player by the TV that he wasn't a Fortunate Son while football played on the screen, the sound drowned out by the music. He noticed a pair of headphones on top of the entertainment center and grabbed them off the shelf, headed for the back porch. Akira seriously had to piss.

It smelled like bonfire back here, and there was, in fact, a decent sized fire in the half-acre lot blazing while about four guys and two girls circled around it, drinking beer and smoking. Shit. _I need to find a place to piss, for god's sake._ Back here they were playing Nickelback on yet another CD player, sitting on top of a matching cylinder wobble-table that Reed was sporting on the front deck.

Akira sighed and crept to the side of the house. There was a small alley between the house and a six-foot fence. _Thank god._ He unzipped and pissed on the fence.

He noticed a bare spot on the back of the porch behind the wobble-table, and slumped his back against the aluminum wall, careful to look out for nails this time. He split open the Marlboros and slipped on the headphones and pulled out his phone. He plugged them into to the aux and pulled up Youtube. Time for Collision Course on repeat. He'd get through the night. Chester and Jay-Z started rapping to him. Systems back to normal, Captain.

 _Thanks, David, you fucking…FUCK. You just ruined one of my favorite songs for me forever._

 _I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain't one._

 _Nope, she ain't my problem anymore, and neither are you._

Akira was on his fourth cigarette when someone bent down in front of him. Some guy with a huge beard that reminded him a little bit of Keith. In fact, all of these people reminded him of dispatch. It was part of the reason he didn't want to be here. These kind of people made fun of people like him. These kind of people called him a snowflake. A yuppie. Insert other cute millennial terms here.

Akira pulled off the headphones. "What's up?"

"Your name Akira?"

"Yeah, why."

"Oh, cool. Reed is looking for you. Wants you to come inside. Said he's got something for you. He's in the bedroom."

"Oh, nice, I'll hurry right up. I've always wanted Reed to tell me he had something waiting for me in the bedroom. You just made my day."

The fat guy cracked up.

The whole house was choked with cigarette smoke now, and the music had changed to Hendrix. It was so packed that people were no longer shoulder-to-shoulder—they were up chest-to-chest, beer-against beer, trying not to burn one another with their cigarettes.

Akira shouldered his way into the bedroom and found five people in there. Reed was sitting on the bed with two girls and another guy was leaning against the wall. Reed was smoking a pipe while the blond sitting next to him was snorting coke on the nightstand. The other blond was sitting cross-legged next to him on the bed, looking blitzed out of her bleeding mind.

"What do you want, Reed." It was a statement, not a question.

Everyone stopped and looked at him. Reed coughed out a cloud. "Hey, Ice Princess! Don't look so gloomy! This is a _party_ , bro! Live it up! Got something for you!" He pushed the pipe towards Akira.

Akira took it gingerly and looked down at the platinum blonde over the nightstand. "Sure, I'll smoke some weed, but you're not going to get me to do coke with you. I'm an Adderall kind of guy." He took a hit off the pipe.

The girl came up from the nightstand and wiped her nose. Sharon Stone. Lynn. Her voice was husky. "The coke is _mine_ , Ice Princess."

Akira hit the pipe again. Sure, this Lynn might look like some sort of dime-store super model, but she also sure looked like a bitch on heels from the look on her face.

"Hey, give my little brother here a break, sweetness." Reed reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. "My Adderall-downing bro is actually a hoot, once you break through that ice." He laughed, and everyone else in the room besides poor-man's Sharon Stone laughed with him. "Seriously, no shit. The stuff that flies off this kid's mouth is pure gold. I don't know where he comes up with his shit."

"Your _bro_ has a little attitude problem, though, for real," he guy next to Akira mumbled, motioning for Akira to pass him the pipe.

"Oh, for sure. He _actually_ thought I was hitting on him looking for some gay sex when I met him at the gym. I was like, hell no, brother, but then he gave me a smoke and he was a cool guy. I mean, we even got his-and-hers tatts. Lift your shirt, bro. Show off them sexy abs."

Akira frowned through the smoke at Reed and begrudgingly and very angrily lifted his shirt.

"Oooooh, nice, that is pretty cool," Lynn mentioned while leaning over the bed and running a fingernail over Akira's ribs. He felt his skin crawl back underneath her touch.

"Nice guns, too, bro. How much do you lift," he guy next to him asked while pinching Akira's arm. Then he passed the pipe back to Akira. Akira shoved Lynn's wandering hand back to her and grabbed the pipe after pulling his shirt back down.

He didn't have time to lie to the guy's question before Lynn cut in. "I'd do what's under the dragon. You look like a _nice_ ride."

Reed laughed and pulled her back over to the bed. "Sweetness, darling! It's okay to stare, but don't touch that merchandise! My little bro is _virgin_ , pristine material."

Akira glared and kept the smoke in his lungs. _You fucking son of a bitch. In front of all these fucking strangers. I am going to fucking strangle you when you take me back to my car._

"I call bullshit on that one," the guy next to him mentioned, motioning again for Akira to give him the pipe. "Unless chicks just scatter when the icy cold goodness comes flying out of that little pretty-boy mouth."

"This thing is getting cashed. You have it. I'm grabbing a beer." Akira grumbled and shoved his way out of the bedroom.

 _Worst fucking party ever. 'Good people' my ass._

Akira slipped on his headphones again and pushed his way through the kitchen. He wasn't grabbing a beer—he was grabbing the whole damn case. Nobody noticed and they all continued to talk amongst themselves around and over him while he shoved his way towards the basement door.

The only people down there were the couple who'd knocked him out of bed in the first place, but this time they weren't in charge. He pulled the headphones down to his neck. Akira walked right up to them and grabbed the half-naked guy by the shoulder.

"Time's up, lovebirds. Get out of my bed right now or this fist is going through your fucking mouth so hard it's going to come out of your ass."

The guy started to talk back and the girl beneath him began to whine.

"No joke. I will fucking gut you and your little girlfriend too if you don't get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Bed. _NOW_."

They got the hint and pulled their clothes back on while looking at Akira like he was a bad case of Anthrax raining on Christmas. Akira shoved the guy as he struggled with his pants, and the guy nearly tripped while getting to the stairs because of it.

He waited until he heard the basement door shut behind them and then walked over to the cracked concrete wall and flipped the switch on the box. The basement didn't go completely black due to the tinge of orange and red coming from the bonfire outside. Akira sighed and ripped a can of beer from the case, setting the rest next to the couch.

He leaned back against the scratchy material and flipped through his phone. One voice message, no texts. It was from a number he didn't recognize, and probably was just Verizon with a polite message that his phone bill was late. It was, and it'd be paid later. If he remembered.

Akira lit up a cigarette and this time he picked Eminem. Collision Course was his wine when he was in a half-decent mood—Eminem was his gin whenever he was nearing wits end and wanted to fuck some shit up. Akira admired the guy, really. This white boy rapped just as good as any black guy, if not better, and his rhymes may have been cuss-laced (which of course Akira preferred), but were really pretty damned good, from a writer's perspective. A real freaking wordsmith raking in millions. Another low-class white boy who was ready to put his fist through your mouth so hard it was going to come out your ass.

He finished the beer in just a few swigs and grabbed another. _The Way I Am_ came through the headphones, and Akira thought it was the first thing about the night that clicked with him.

He downed a few more beers and gulped it down in the dark, alone. This was apparently this thing now. It was like Keith always said. _Everybody's a got a thing._ He closed his eyes and lay down on the springs and the now kind-of damp sheets. This was some gross shit.

Akira jerked up when someone grabbed the phone off his lap and the headphones were pulled from his ears. He looked up in the dark and realized it was Lynn, Reed's bitch on wheels Wednesday goddess. Maybe she was here to make a man out of him in the dark.

"Give me back my phone, you fucking cunt."

She grinned like a cat and shook his phone in her hand like David had done to Akira the day before. The similarity wasn't lost on Akira. Eminem's angry lyrics hissed through the dangling headset. "Eminem? Got some repressed rage issues, Ice Princess?"

He stood up and grabbed the phone back, but she wasn't as easily scared off as the lovebirds had been. This girl had that same sure-as-shit-I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude that Reed himself reeked of. Akira doubted anything he said to her would phase her, just like Reed. "Aren't you supposed to be upstairs knocking those fuck-me boots with that flame-headed piece of shit? I know all about your weekly Wednesday family fun time."

She grinned and leaned to the side a bit, but she didn't seem drunk. Instead Akira gathered that this was not a woman of wasted actions. "He told you about that, did he?" Lynn reached out in the dark and started to trail that same finger along Akira's chest. He threw it off.

"Get out of here. Leave me alone."

She shook her head and wagged a finger at him. "Don't go telling me what to do, Ice Princess. I want to see what's under that _dragon_ of yours." She reached towards the bottom of his shirt.

He grabbed her hands and pinned them at his sides. She didn't flinch. Instead, she giggled a little.

"So, what, you're a tough guy? I like tough guys. I like corrupting _virgin_ merchandise even better, though." She leaned into him and didn't move her hands. Instead, she kept him in checkmate, openly defying him to own up or shut up.

"Fuck off."

"You want to fuck me? Sure. That's why I came down here, after all." She leaned farther forward and brushed her lips against his, her breath hot and threatening against his teeth. "Show me what's under that _dragon_ , Ice Princess." Her perfume pooled under his nostrils like slow dripping honey.

That was it. Akira snapped.

He grabbed her by her wrists and threw her onto the soggy mattress in the dark, and immediately crushed his chest on top of her, pinning her down against it with her legs spread and those fuck-me boots dangling off each of his sides. He grabbed the back of her head and curled his hands into fists through it so hard he could feel his nails digging into his palms. She grabbed the back of shirt and started pulling it up to his shoulders. Then she opened those evil lips wide and he took the offer, opening his own and shoving his tongue into her throat.

He lifted off her for just a second so she could rip his shirt off in the dark, and then he pinned her down again, both of them fighting with their mouths and tongues so hard that Akira was thinking there'd be blood soon.

He wasn't thinking, really, or maybe he was thinking on overdrive—every thought that had been coming slow like dripping water over the last few days was ripping through his mind like a burst dam and as roughly as her nails were as they started to rip into his bare, heaving shoulders.

He grabbed her legs and pushed her mini-skirt up to her thighs while they stayed connected through their furious kissing battle.

Thoughts without words turned into an overwhelming hunger he hadn't felt before, and it was rising through his neck and through his face. His muscles tensed beyond rage he'd ever known. He was on fire.

It was all there—all at once.

Everything he hated. About everyone else. About himself. A sick sideshow he'd been forced to watch in slow motion was now a book with pictures blowing wildly in the wind in fleeting images. It may have been Reed's bitch raping him in the dark, but it was everything else in the light left of Akira's mind. It was people; it was places; it was things.

The shower. The freight train. The office. Gridlock. The gym.

Blood started to run down the sides of his back and he tasted it in his mouth as well. Sweat trailed down the sides of his face, down his neck, and onto the bitch beneath him. Her skirt was around her waist, and she wasn't wearing underwear to stop the inevitable between them—only Reed's dirty jeans stood in the way.

Starbucks. Jeff's office. Olive Garden. His room. Mom and Dad's house. The backseat of the car. Reed's basement.

Her hands stopped the stabbing into his back and she started to pull at the front of the jeans.

David. Matt. Taka. Reed.

Sound was gone. His heart beat like an angry lover banging at the door of a cheating spouse.

Rosa.

The jeans fell down around his knees.

Pounding in his veins. Blood on his back, in his mouth, on his palms. Voices in his head, just words, crashing against one another without stop, without break.

 _Who gives a shit what she's_ _like_ _Matt She's good for a fuck just like everybody else what she's_ _like_ _doesn't matter_ _you are the_ _worst_ _guy I have ever been out with I got ninety-nine problems but a bitch_ _ain't_ _one_ _my little bro is_ _virgin_ _pristine material_ _you_ _'re_ _sinking_ _you're_ _falling_ _you're grabbing_ _anything_ _or_ _anyone_ _you can find to drag down with you drag down into_ _death_ _you're already_ _dead_ _I'm tired of grieving over_ _you_

And then, the first clear words in the bloody, heaving, wildfire madness.

 _Find that guy that makes you the luckiest girl in the world like you wanted, and I promise you, he'll be the luckiest son of a bitch in the history of time. Wait for him. You're worth it._

Akira's eyes shot open. He pulled his mouth away and ripped Lynn's hands from the waistband of his boxers. "NO."

She leaned up on her elbows, blood trailing from the side of her lips. "NO?!" She lunged forward towards his waist again.

He grabbed her wrists and gripped them frantically. Akira had no breath. "I said _NO_!"

She fell to her knees and lunged back towards his waist. Akira stumbled backwards and fell onto the slick concrete floor on his ass and palms. She jumped atop him before he could gather his ground and yanked the boxers to his thighs.

 _Fuck you, bitch. I'm stronger than you are. And I believe I just said_ _no_ _._

He grabbed her by her shoulders and flung her with all his might into the concrete pole to their left. Her back slammed into it and her stilettos skidded against the floor. Her blonde, sweaty hair hung in front of her face and her long nails splayed out between them. She recovered quickly and glared at him between stands of ice cold locks. " _Nobody_ fucking tells me _no_."

Akira scooted back and pulled the boxers back up to his waist. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. " _I_ just said _no_ , bitch. _This_ guy just fucking told you _no_." He staggered up from the cold floor and wavered in the dark. His whole body was shaking. "You fucking touch me one more time and I will snap every little finger of yours off and send them to your buddy Reed in the mail."

"Don't you tell me—"

"You fucking try me. You fucking _try_ it. I fucking _dare_ you to. Come on. Come at me one more time, bitch." He waved her towards him. "And I'll show you what I fucking mean when I mean _no_."

She pulled herself up off the floor and steadied herself with the pole behind her. "Just who the _fuck_ are you?"

 _Akira Kawasaki. Lester Burnham. Seiryu._

"The fucking Ice Princess who just told you _no_. Now get the fuck out of here before one of those fuck-me heels ends up through your fucking eye socket. I swore I'd never hit a woman, but I'm willing to beat the living shit out of _you_."

Lynn spit on the ground between them and pushed her skirt back down to her thighs. She pulled her hair back from her face. "You just fucked with the wrong bitch, Ice Princess."

But she finally did get up and leave, limping up the stairs on wobbling heels, leaving Akira alone, bleeding, and shaking in the dark. Once he heard the door slam shut behind her, he fell to his knees, his palms hitting the concrete with a slap.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that. He was waiting for Reed to run down the stairs, and beat him till there was nothing left to beat. But the beating never came. There was a strange hissing noice. It was his phone, lying on the concrete, headphones still attached to it, still playing. He stood up and sat down on the side of the couch and pulled the headphones out from the aux. The song came alive and echoed in the shadows of the bonfire through the windows.

It was Enimem and Rihanna this time. _I Love the Way you Lie._ The Eminem loop had been playing the whole time.


	9. Chapter 9: I Am The God

Chapter Nine: I am The God

Akira sat in the darkness, waiting. Waiting for Reed's boots to storm down the stairs. Waiting to be beaten until he passed out from pain and embarrassment. Waiting for the phone battery to die and the hissing through the headphones to stop. Waiting for Lynn to come back downstairs and rip his dick out of his pants with her claws. Waiting for the love birds to come take back their nest.

None of it happened. He listened in the dark to the noises of the party begin to wind down, and less and less footsteps were heard above. Eventually the base of the music stopped. He heard cars driving away.

Akira never faded into sleep, even after it became silent above. It started to drizzle outside, and eventually the bonfire burned out.

He was finally alone in the darkness.

Akira looked at his phone. It was three thirty-three in the morning. Everyone was asleep. He figured it was finally safe to have a cigarette, and if he was feeling really brave, walk home. There was nothing else to do, no one else to see, nowhere else to go. Reed had barely been there in the first place, and now, assuming Lynn had told him everything, Reed was gone too.

Akira had lost everything but his virginity.

Maybe it was time to go home and end it all. No one would care. Not even him.

He hadn't moved in hours and he hurt. The pants were still damp at the knees, and he didn't bother to pull the shirt back on. He just grabbed his stuff from the concrete floor and tip-toed up the stairs. Akira cracked the door open, saw no one in the kitchen, and then stepped into the house. There were some people sleeping on the living room floor and couch, but that was it. It looked like most of the people had gone home. The place was trashed.

It had now started to rain harder outside, and the backyard was empty as he stepped past the sliding door and slid it shut behind him. Now that everyone had left, he could see it was a rather plain backyard. A junky fence, a sad little maple tree in the left corner, and a muddy fire pit on the right with some cheap, white plastic chairs littered around it.

Akira lit up a smoke and stared off into the backyard. There was a small streetlamp near the tree in the corner, and it made it a little bit pretty in a very lonely way. Akira found comfort in that. Lonely and pretty, just like him. It fit.

He narrowed his eyes and looked up into the sky. He was tempted to step out from underneath the narrow eave but didn't want to lose the cigarette…but it was a very strong impulse. An impulse to walk into the middle of the yard and stare up into the cloudy night sky. He knew he wouldn't see anything but darkness and rain. But he couldn't stop himself, and he went, putting foot in front of food in the mud without really knowing why or how.

His hair had fallen down by this point and started to cling, soaking wet, to his back and shoulders. Akira reached the middle of the yard, took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and put his face to the sky. The raindrops pelted him. It had become a true storm now.

It was like being baptized. Hallelujah.

He was no longer alone.

Akira looked over to his right and there he was. It was himself—it was Akira—and he knew it immediately. But it was not the same Akira. The face, the build, and the height were the same. But this Akira's hair was long and perfectly straight—so long that it reached the grass—and white. Pure white. The white Akira had spent a lifetime hiding. There was no dragon on his stomach. He was clad in a white silk robe that somehow was dry despite the downpour, tied with a blue sash. This Akira was also looking towards the sky. Where Akira's eyes were a faded yellow, this Akira's eyes were so yellow that they nearly were glowing. Akira stared at him in wonder. He was beautiful. He was glorious. He looked like a god. He looked like heaven had created a version of him that Akira never could have done himself. To be so beautiful, so serene, so comfortable—it was everything Akira himself wasn't. He wasn't jealous, however, he was awed. He wondered if he'd died and if it was his soul standing beside him.

"The idea of a "soul" was made by mankind to counter the fear that their fleeting life is more than the few seconds on this earth than it is; that their lives mean nothing and that nothing truly great can be accomplished in such a short time period, let alone remembered," the Other-Akira said to him, in a deep, cold voice. "I am no soul."

"What…are you?"

Other-Akira grinned and turned to face him, and Akira's awe gave way to fear. The same fear in his stomach that he'd gotten when he first met Reed. This Akira was the same height as him, but he seemed so much taller. This other Akira was so…dangerous. Unworldly.

"I…am you. I…am a god. THE god."

"I'm sure as hell not a god."

Other-Akira shrugged. "Fine, call me "Seiryu", if it makes you feel better. If you need a name. Or call me "Akira". Call me "Lester Burnham". Call me "Zeus". Call me "Odin". Call me "Joe", if you need a name so badly. Names mean nothing to me. I've had so many names. They're meaningless."

Akira bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair as he always did when he was nervous, and then jolted as his realized it was dry. He slapped a hand to his pants. They were dry as well. The cigarette pack in his hand that he'd known was ruined—even that was dry. "What the…?"

"Should it have been ruined? Is that what you wanted? It's not what I wanted. What I wanted was one of your cigarettes. You trust people more who smoke, so it's probably best that I do that for you. Would you please give me one?" The creature reached out a long, perfect, pale hand.

Akira frowned and reached out the pack and lighter to the creature. His hand was shaking. He was terrified. This was a dream he'd never forget. The words this man was saying, the look on his face, the haughtiness—this man was evil. Something horrible. He decided that yes, this man, this version of him…this would be called Seiryu.

Seiryu smiled as though he had just won and reached out and took a cigarette from the pack. He also lit up and blew smoke into the pouring rain. Even the smoke ignored the rain—it was as though the rain only existed around them, like either they or it didn't belong in the world.

"Something horrible?" Seiryu blew out more smoke and looked down at Akira. It was like a painting, this guy was so unreal. Terrifying, but gorgeous, and Akira couldn't look away or even smoke himself because he was so stunned by his presence. "Terrifying and gorgeous sounds much better to me…those are words much more…akin to myself. The only ones who would consider me "horrible" are those who have…displeased me. To others I am a prayer answered."

"So then…have I displeased you?"

Seiryu shook his head. "No, not at all. I didn't expect you to fall to your knees. You're not pious. You're a coward. I was expecting you to turn and run and drink yourself into forgetfulness."

Akira had nothing to say to that. "So then…why are you here, Seiryu? Why now? Why me, if you're so great and powerful and people mean nothing to you? Surely a coward like me, someone so worthless and insignificant, is not worth your time."

Seiryu smirked and touched a finger to his lips. "No, surely such a man would not be. But you are. You're worth this meeting. I've been waiting for you a very, very long time."

"So…then…why me? Why now?"

"Because you ARE me. I am you. So you need not worry so much. You worry so, so much, child, about such trivial, unimportant things. To me, everything is nothing. I am all that matters. YOU are all that matters."

"You've said that already." Akira glared. He did not like this pompous, glorious, asshole. He'd like to be that beautiful, and maybe that intimidating, sure, but not like this guy in any other way. This guy was every stupid major bad guy in any video game he'd ever played. He'd spent a lifetime beating guys like this. "You didn't tell me why NOW."

It occurred to Akira that possibly this "Seiryu" could hear his thoughts because that pristine face twisted as though it had just smelled something bad. Seiryu blew out smoke angrily. "I came to you NOW because you've finally been defeated."

"Defeated?"

"Yes, defeated. By your friends, by these girls, by your job, by your life, by this world. Everything that mattered to you failed. You failed. You have nothing left."

"I have nothing left?"

"Well, do you?"

Akira was stung by that. He DIDN'T have anything left. His job, by a string, maybe, and Steve, his cat. But was it, other than that. This guy was right, and Akira hated him for it. He hated that he somehow already knew it.

"That's not for you to decide," Akira replied.

"I didn't. YOU did. You were going to walk home in this rain and find a way to end your life. You've been abandoned by your family and your friends and you have nothing left in this life. You're powerless. A loser. A coward. A waste of a man. You don't matter at all in this world, and you know it already."

"Go fuck yourself."

Seiryu smiled and flicked the finished cigarette into the grass. "That's more like it. That's what I've been waiting for."

"For me to tell you to go fuck yourself? That's pretty sad."

Seiryu shook his head and reached out a long, icy white hand and put it on Akira's shoulder. It was as cold as it looked. Cold, and heavy.

"No, I want you to be at war, and this time, I want you to WIN, Akira. You've already been doing it. Your whole life. All of you. All of you humans. All the time. At war with your world, with each other, and with yourselves. And always, you all lose. Nobody wins in war."

"That's a pretty common saying."

Seiryu smiled at this. "It is. It is because it's true. But none of them were US. We are the God of War. The God of Storms and Oceans. The God of Wisdom and Power and Lighting. Name it. It's ours. And it's time we went to war to claim it all back. It's time to fight this war, together…and to win."

Akira stepped back from his grasp and put his hand on his shoulder where Seiryu's had been, rubbing it. He didn't trust this guy—this creature—this god. Whatever Seiryu was going to ask…Akira wasn't going to give it to him.

Seiryu stepped towards him, knowing his thoughts. "Yes…yes you will, Akira. We WILL fight this war, together. And do you know why?"

"Yeah, I'd like to know why."

"It's simple. It's because I'm all you have left. There is nothing else for you in this world. There never was anything else for you in this world besides yourself…besides me."

"Bullshit. Whatever you're going to ask me to do…and it's gonna be bad, I'm sure…I'm not doing it. I'm not that kind of guy."

Seiryu laughed at this. It was a cold, dead, but winning laugh. "Oh, really? And why is that? Because you're a "good guy"? Is that what your games taught you? I don't think so. They taught you to gain power. They taught you to amass weapons and power and kill others. Destroy others. Your goal was always to be number one. First on the playboards. One-hundred percent completion rates. Total domination. Am I so wrong, Akira? Am I wrong?"

Akira frowned and didn't have an answer. All of it was true.

"Of course it's true. You can't lie to yourself. You couldn't even lie to your 'Rosa' girl. She had you figured out. She was right. You're a horrible person. 'The worst guy'."

"Fuck you."

"Don't worry about it, Akira. You're SUPPOSED to be a horrible person. You're supposed to be the WORST guy. You were meant to fail at these menial things…because you don't belong in those categories. Only succeed in being a god…at being the greatest of all gods…at being the only god left. We WILL reach that top level, child. We will dominate." He smiled. "We will…win."

"Win what? What is there to win if everything is so meaningless, Seiryu?"

Seiryu turned from him and smiled, lifting his hands to the sky. "To someone like us, there is only one thing that is not meaningless in this universe, Akira. That thing…is power." He turned back to face Akira, and his eyes were now a glowing blue. The rain started to shift in waves around them, and Akira became nervous. He could feel…something. Some kind of electricity in the air. "Power…Akira. The power to do anything…everything you ever wanted. The power to destroy, the power to create, the power to control. Everything only gains meaning when it belongs to you. When everything belongs to you, suddenly everything has meaning."

"But…I'm…not powerful, Seiryu. I'm not the person you're looking for. This…what you're talking about…it's not what I want."

Seiryu smiled wider and leaned forward, reaching his hands out to Akira, pleading. "Yes, Akira…yes, it is! It's what you always wanted, your whole life! It's what you were born to want! This is what your whole life has been leading up to. Have you ever wondered WHY you're so powerless? It's because you've been going after the wrong things. This world does not need great writers. It doesn't need pretty models. It doesn't need a MAN for people to be jealous of…because that's been your goal, all this time, hasn't it? To be the kind of man everyone else can envy? Everything you've ever done…it's only been for the envy of others. If they could not envy you, what was the point? Nothing's ever been good enough for you. Second place. Average women. You've only ever wanted the best for yourself, because that's the only thing worth envying. First place. Top score. If it wasn't the top tier, it wasn't for you. No game good enough. No book good enough. No woman good enough. No job good enough. And that's fine, for a god, this is fine. None of these things are ever good enough for us."

Akira wrung his hands together against his chest. The water wasn't hitting him, but he felt cold. Cold and naked, because whatever creature this was talking to him (probably his busted psyche) it was giving him some cold truths he wasn't looking for.

Seiryu shook his head and embraced Akira, and Akira froze, his breath catching in his nostrils. This creature had no smell. He wasn't real. "Akira…my poor, poor Akira. How sad and broken you are. But no more. This is your rebirth. This is your rising." He grabbed Akira's face in his cold, white hands and looked into Akira's eyes with eyes that had once again turned a burning gold. Burning and dead at the same time. "Today, we do not wake up and tell ourselves that we are dead, Akira. Today, we begin our war…we take our first steps towards the battlefield. You are no longer alone. From this day forward, and forever…I am with you."

"No…"

"Yes, Akira, YES. Today is your day. Today is your baptism…you woke up as a human and will go to sleep as a god. All humans believe that they are somehow special, that they will matter somehow, that they were born for a reason…and then get depressed because they are not special and they don't matter and it never will have mattered that they existed at all. But for you…you are the exception they all believe themselves to be—that you yourself believed yourself to be. Everything you've ever wanted, Akira…everything you've ever desired…you're no longer too weak to go after it. You have everything you need to succeed. You have…me. You want that Rosa? You go get her. You take her. You go get Angie Everhart, if you want."

"She's probably pretty old now…"

Seiryu shook his head and also shook Akira. "Don't be stupid. You want to hurt Reed? You go ahead and do it. Pound him into the floor. Kill him. You want Taka to listen to you? Make him. You want his wife, Miaka? You go ahead and take her, Akira. Anything you want, it's yours. You just have to take it."

Against his better judgment, Akira found himself asking, "How? How…"

At this, Seiryu gave that huge, bright smile again. This time he petted Akira's face. "When the time comes, you will know. All you need is the courage to show up, Akira. All you need to do is be there. The power to get what you want will be there, it will come to you. Show them, Akira. Show them all. Start with them...these people who have wronged you. Start your war there. Get your revenge. It will be so, so sweet. You'll hunger for more. And you'll get more. You'll get more and more until you finally have what you want…what we both want."

"And…what is that?"

Seiryu patted Akira's face again and tilted his head, like a mother comforting their child. "Everything, Akira. Everything."

Akira stepped back from Seiryu and stared at him. It was still a downpour, with a good amount of lightning now. The booms of thunder didn't even shake him. Akira pulled a cigarette from the pack with his shaking hand and stuck it in his mouth. He knew where this was going. If this WAS the Seiryu from the book, or even a dream, or a game, he had an idea where this was going. He light up the cigarette and blew out the smoke towards Seiryu. Seiryu smiled right through it.

"So…Seiryu…what's the catch? You're not going to give me all this for nothing. This is going to cost me something, and like you just said, I have nothing. And, not only that, if this has something to do with the book, like I'm thinking it does, because that book is FUCKED UP, you're not the only god out there. There will be someone out there who can stop you…who could stop," Akira put his hand on his chest, "Stop…me."

Seiryu stepped back and clapped his hands together, pleased. "Very good, Akira! Very smart! You're not quite as dumb as you seem, but, of course, I knew that already."

Akira blew out smoke. "Stop your bullshit. Give me the facts."

Seiryu frowned. "Don't order ME around, boy. No wonder everyone hates you." Seiryu looked back up towards the rain and reached a hand to the sky. "You are right, there are others. There are five others. They are inconsequential, however, compared to you and I."

"How so? And who are they? How do I find them?"

"With your rage, and my power, and my OWN rage, they can do nothing. And, as I said before, names don't matter. They wouldn't have the same names after all these years anyways…and besides, you'll know. You'll know when you meet them."

"Know how?"

Seiryu grinned. "You'll just know."

"And then what? Even if you give me "powers", I'll assume they'll have powers too, and then what? Epic battle? We cream one another? Last god standing wins?"

"To a point, yes. But there will be no question. We will be the last standing. We are the only one who matters."

"I kind of think that's a load of bullshit. I'm pretty sure they're gonna think they matter just as much as you think we matter, and I have to say, you're pretty fucking full of yourself."

Seiryu glared at him. "The others are weak. I don't care what they want. They matter as much to me as much as the stupid humans."

"Oh? If I read that story right, the God Suzaku kicked the shit out of you pretty good. If you are, in fact, the dragon."

Seiryu's eyes narrowed even more and started to tinge blue again. Akira grinned despite himself. It was clear he'd finally been able to touch a nerve on this guy, and after all the shit he'd just taken, it was nice to be able to dish some out. "Mistakes happen. It won't happen again."

Akira raised an eyebrow, even more pleased. "Oh, really? You're so sure about that. Is the "mistakes were made" excuse the only reason you're begging for my help now? Cause if you're as great as you seem to think you are, it seems to me you'd pretty much have this all taken care of by now, anyways, without the help of this pathetic coward here."

Seiryu just glared at him with cat-like eyes that had turned blue again. Akira just continued.

"So…if that story is true, you were beaten by the power of love, pretty damned lame, if you ask me. Human love and a bird. You're a pretty shitty god."

Seiryu sneered. "You'd best stop yourself."

But no, Akira was proud of himself for the first time that day. For the first time in days, he felt the…the "good", yes, it had to be called the good, in him rising. Because what was standing in front of him was clearly bad.

"No, I think not, Seiryu. I'm sure you know I'm a virgin, but I sure as hell won't be your priestess, or priest, or whatever. You're going to need to find some other pathetic virgin fuck for your game."

Seiryu huffed and turned around, giving a back full of white, flowing hair to his other self. "My my, little Akira, how silly you are. How silly to think you've just done the right thing, the "good" thing. For you, there is no "good". For you, yourself, are wicked and selfish at the core. There is no "good" in you. But, no matter to me, go ahead and go back. Go back to your sad little life. It changes nothing for me."

"That's not how this whole thing sounded to me. It sounded to me like you needed my help. Like you needed me to agree. Like I needed to wish for your help."

"It's too late for you, Akira."

"Too late? Too late for what?"

At this, Seiryu turned back and smiled at Akira, and it was a horrid, nasty smile. The smile that said again that the god had won. Akira waited for him to reply, but he didn't. Seiryu was there one moment, and the next he was gone. Then lightning crashed into the yard in a blitz and light and the maple tree fell.

Reed sat across from Akira at the small wooden table in the kitchen, eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes, dressed in a stained pink bathrobe. He was shaking his head and talking, and Akira wasn't listening. Akira was chain smoking and looking out the window, into the storm. His throat hurt.

"You get what I'm saying?" Reed waved a hand in front of Akira.

"What? No, I didn't hear what you said."

Reed frowned. "Yeah. You're shocked. I can tell. Are you not hearing me because your ears are ringing?"

"What? No, nothing like that."

Akira was telling the truth. It was nothing like that at all. His ears and hearing were fine. Reed had rushed out of the house when the tree fell, though somehow everyone else who remained left over from the party seemed to sleep through it. It hadn't been a big tree, and Akira was fine, but Reed must have been a firefighter in a past life because before Akira knew it, he'd been grabbed and shoved back towards the house, shocked, not even realizing that Reed had grabbed him for a moment.

It was all too unreal, and he couldn't stop thinking about the book. About the dragon, Seiryu, and if their conversation had even been real. If the story that he'd read and thought was fiction was actually real. He wondered if he'd only walked out drunk into a rainstorm and had narrowly missed being hit by a tree that had been hit by lightning, or if he'd just discussed with and incurred the wrath of an ancient being and had been given a brush with death as a parting gift. He wasn't listening to a thing Reed was mumbling, unless it had anything to do with Lynn. He was still waiting to discuss that. Akira was starting to think, that maybe for some unknown reason, she hadn't mentioned what had happened to Reed at all.

"You're a pretty lucky son of a bitch, I'll tell you that much," Reed mouthed through a face full of cereal as he pointed the fork at Akira. "What the fuck were you even doing out there, anyways?"

"Nothing."

"You shouldn't smoke while people are eating. You're making my food taste gross."

"Too bad."

Reed grumbled and took a few more bites of cereal. Akira thought it was ridiculous that he was wearing a pink bathrobe that was moldy and didn't even fit. Then it occurred to Akira that Reed had probably washed a red bathrobe with the whites, ruined it in doing so, and became so mad at either the robe or himself that he'd never washed it again. Then he was too obstinate to throw out a "perfectly good robe" and would instead rather be a full-grown man wearing a dirty pink robe.

Akira wondered to himself how he knew this, but he did. Then it occurred to him. Just as Reed had mentioned to him the he somehow "knew" Akira when they'd first met, it appeared that Akira knew him too. Akira's eyes narrowed as he watched Reed gulp the milk out of the bowl.

 _"You'll know when you meet them. You'll just know."_ Seiryu's icy voice echoed in his head.

Akira sat and watched while Reed wiped his mouth, and he leaned back into the chair and pointed his cigarette at his red friend.

"So, you never told me where you got that tattoo," Akira asked.

Reed got up from the table, piled the dishes on top of an already heaping mountain in the sink, and then plopped back down into the chair and pulled out his own pack of cigarettes. "Some place in Chinatown. Don't really remember the name. It was a few years ago."

Akira narrowed his eyes. "Why'd you get it?"

Reed shrugged and lit up his cigarette. "Cause I'm a phoenix."

Akira sat up straight in his chair. "What?!"

Reed just looked confused. "What, what? It's just a tattoo, man. What's up with you? Why are you acting so bizarre?"

"I'm…I'm not."

"So, what then, are you a dragon?"

Not just a dragon, Reed, a dragon god. An ancient Chinese god. "No."

"This is a stupid conversation."

Akira groaned while Reed shrugged and pulled a newspaper from the side of the table and started thumbing through it. He was so weird. Who the hell still actually read newspapers when there were smartphones?

Reed did. He did it because smartphones were too much for him…too much technology, and not enough humanity. Everything was digital, these days. Nothing was real.

"Hey…Reed…when you said that you thought you…knew me, at the gym, how did you know that you knew me? Where did you think you knew me from?"

Reed shrugged, more interested in the paper than Akira. "I dunno. I used to do a fuckton of drugs. I figured maybe from a rave or something. I mean, it is kinda weird, that we look a lot like each other. Maybe I just see myself in you. I dunno."

"That's just thinking you recognized me. I'm talking about the fact that you acted like you knew me. Like you knew how to text on my phone and act like me."

Reed set the paper down and blew out of puff of smoke, irritated. "Oh. Really? What did you mean by that?"

"Well, I mean, you used punctuation and everything. Nobody does that over texts. Everybody shorthands and abbreviates stuff. How did you know I didn't? Did you even know why I don't do that? How did you know?"

Reed rubbed his forehead. "Listen man, you gotta chill it with the twenty questions this morning. I'm hungover as fuck and had to wake up and save your ass from standing out in a freaking lightning storm like a total idiot. I haven't even had my coffee yet."

"Sorry."

"Yeah. Man, it seems like we just met and I'm already always saving your ass all the time."

Saving it? After you'd already destroyed it? Akira wondered. One thing he was pretty sure of, though, was why he "knew" Reed. He knew Reed because Reed was Suzaku. If not the god himself, as Akira was supposedly this Seiryu god, then most certainly one of the god's warriors. And he didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, or if they were even friends or enemies.

More than that, Akira wondered if the person he'd been talking to in the mirror every morning had finally spoken back.


End file.
